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104
WAITING SEASONS
<p>Nobody tells you that waiting has a sound.</p><p><br/></p><p>It is the echo of congratulatory messages you keep typing while swallowing the lump in your own throat.</p><p>It is clapping until your palms sting because your friends deserve every celebration, then going home to question yourself about what exactly you've done wrong.</p><p><br/></p><p>I had dreams that refused to fit inside my pockets.</p><p>Dreams so loud I thought they would outrun time itself.</p><p><br/></p><p>I was going to arrive early. I was going to be "the one." The girl with the testimony before everyone else found theirs.</p><p><br/></p><p>Instead, life asked me to sit.</p><p>"Just wait."</p><p>As if waiting were simple.</p><p>As if my heart didn't know how to compare timelines.</p><p><br/></p><p>One by one, people I started beside became people I was trying to catch.</p><p>Their names became announcements.</p><p>Mine became "soon."</p><p><br/></p><p>I mastered the art of smiling in photographs while wondering why mine was the only story that had forgotten how to move.</p><p><br/></p><p>I questioned God so often I started feeling guilty for praying.</p><p>Because what kind of faith keeps checking the clock?</p><p>What kind of hope keeps trying the lock of the same door expecting it to finally open?</p><p><br/></p><p>The hardest part wasn't even the delay.</p><p>It was watching life continue without asking if I was ready to be left behind.</p><p>People outgrew versions of themselves while I was still trying to convince mine that she wasn't failing.</p><p><br/></p><p>Waiting has a strange way of introducing you to yourself.</p><p>There are things success could never have taught me.</p><p>Patience that cried before it learned to breathe.</p><p>The courage to celebrate people without making their victories an accusation against my 'delays.'</p><p><br/></p><p>Of course, most of them are still ahead of me.</p><p>Some have travelled farther, built bigger, arrived sooner.</p><p><br/></p><p>Sometimes I still notice.</p><p>Sometimes it still pinches.</p><p>Healing is honest like that.</p><p>But I no longer measure my life with someone else's ruler.</p><p><br/></p><p>Because the girl who once begged for any open door has learned that some closed doors were PROTECTION. </p><p>Some were preparation, making room for a version of me that couldn't be handled by my former self. </p><p><br/></p><p>I've learned that seasons don't apologise for arriving when they do.</p><p>Neither will I.</p><p>When my time finally blooms, it won't be because I outran everyone else.</p><p>It will be because, after all that waiting, I still chose to grow.</p>
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