New York minute
It’s been said that the shortest period of time is the interval between a traffic light turning green and the guy behind you honking his horn.
I’m trying hard to not be that guy.
I wait in the stillness, in the aching, hoping for answers to questions I don’t even know how to ask. I watch with bruised hope, longing a door of yes to open, attentive to even the smallest cracks in the door frame of promise.
And just like a three-minute traffic light feels like it lasts for three hours, it feels like I’ve been waiting here forever.