Angela White I Waited |link| -

You think waiting is passive? You think it’s just sitting on a stoop, watching for headlights? No. Waiting is a violent art. It is a clenched fist inside a velvet glove. It is a clock whose ticking sounds like a hammer on a coffin. Every second I waited, I was building a case. Every hour, I was memorizing the exact shade of your betrayal.

I waited until the waiting turned into watching. And the watching turned into seeing. And seeing? Seeing is the end of love. angela white i waited

I waited through the long afternoons when your shadow was longer than your patience. I waited through the texts you left on read, through the promises you swallowed like bad wine. I became an expert in the geometry of your back— the way it turned from me in that bed, a curve of marble, cold and magnificent. You think waiting is passive

Angela White, do you hear me? I waited.

So here I am. Not angry. Not weeping. Just… finished. The clock has struck its final hour. You are late, Angela White. You are not just late for dinner. You are late for us . Waiting is a violent art