You feel your knees wobble as you incorrigibly stand for hours, or you believe so—watching for a familiar, albeit blurred speck of color or a piece of clothing you can recognize. You’re not even so sure of yourself if this method, however tiring, is foolproof. Yet you stand there, squinting as if it will help turn your eyes into binoculars; you do not trust your eyes—they have failed you many times over, but they’re the best weapon you can utilize in this situation. You imagine your legs turning into jelly soon. Probably. You consider it as something worth witnessing—heck no, you’d want that so you can have something to eat while you… wait.
You turn your attention to a nearby clock. It moves ever so slowly, testing your patience; you try to think of other things to spend whatever is left of time that is still valuable to you. However, in an almost annoying twist, just when you are finally starting not to care anymore, she arrives. You shake your head in disbelief, or at least in your mind you would have done that. You then ask, rather irritably:
What took you so long?
“What took you so early?” is her only reply.
You realize you have been years ahead of her. Maybe even more.
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