Waiting

by Cappucinno

Some things just don’t change.

You can’t sit around waiting for them, because if you do then it’s like you’re just putting your life on pause. And you’re just…waiting. Waiting for what? You’re waiting for something that’s never going to happen. You’re waiting for absolutely nothing.

It’s pointless, and it’s stupid, and it’s a waste of time. But somehow, I can’t make myself stop.

This happens every day, without fail.

I sit here, on this bench, outside of this café, and I wait.

I wait for him to go ask that shy girl in the corner for her order, I wait for him to ignore the flock of schoolgirls always trying to get his attention, and then I wait for him to notice me sitting outside in the cold. And hope that maybe he’ll come and sit down beside me one of these days and strike up a conversation.

I know that really, I’m just wasting my time.

If he notices me, he doesn’t show it. He’s kind of quiet by nature, so this doesn’t surprise me, but somehow I think that it’s not just him being quiet—it’s him just not caring. Every day I watch him walk right by me, leaving footprints in the snow. Like a trail that’s beckoning me forward.

I never follow.

Every day I’m here, just wasting my time. My whole life goes on pause for a few hours as I cross my fingers and just hope. Like I’m psychic and he’ll magically get the idea, or something stupid like that.

It’s dumb and it’s stupid and it’s pointless, but I can’t bring myself to stop.

Because even though I know that nothing will ever happen, I can’t quite convey that message to my heart. When he walks by it speeds up, like if it’s beating loud enough, then he’ll hear it. When his back finally disappears around the corner, my heart kind of sinks a little bit, like it’s sad to see him go.

Stupid organ. It never learns.

So, here I am, waiting again. It’s snowing again today and I don’t have an umbrella, but that’s alright because I’m not going to wait for very long today anyways. I can tell that it’s warm in there, where he is, because everyone’s cheeks are rosy and there’s fog on the windows.

I can see him in there, smiling politely at the shy black-haired girl in the corner as he hands her a cup of hot chocolate and asks, “Is there anything else I can get you?” in a voice that I’ve only ever heard in my dreams. I can see her shake her head, “No, thank you.” And then he’s off again, trying not to be irritated with the freshmen girls clustered in the corner, giggling loudly.

And that’s when it happens. He turns his head, just a little bit, and his eyes meet mine through the window. I’m frozen, one hand pressed against the glass, the outsider looking in. His eyes go wide for half a second—like he’s just been caught doing something he shouldn’t have been—and they’re a beautiful shade of obsidian that almost looks like gray. And then he smiles, briefly, so I’m not sure if I just imagined it or not, but by the time I recover he’s already gone back to work, taking someone else’s order.

And then, like always, my heart beats a little bit faster.

Maybe, just maybe, I can afford to wait a little bit longer.