035.

[reststops]

i was sitting in the doctors room for fourtyfive minutes with my mother before i said anything
a "you know, they say you spend a third of your life waiting."
she tells me not to crack my knuckles and,
"sometimes for some,
more."

i don't want to feel calloused
every
day,
always two fists tightly closed and
cast in ice
water.

here's to the days i break out.
the glory days of tungsten lights and sloppy smiles,
you know the ones.
the sober moments of calm collected contentedness,
the days where i pass the time dancing,
feeling like one big exhale.

i'm waiting.
always.