THE WEIGHT OF WAITING

SHE STANDS BY THE TALL WINDOW, HER FIGURE BARELY OUTLINED AGAINST THE PALE LIGHT FILTERING THROUGH THE GLASS. THE WORLD OUTSIDE FEELS STRANGELY DISTANT, UNREACHABLE – A CITYSCAPE BLURRED INTO SHAPES AND SHADOWS, AS THOUGH THE PAST HAS FOLDED ITSELF INTO THE PRESENT. INSIDE, THE ROOM IS COLD, NOT IN TEMPERATURE BUT IN MOOD – THE KIND OF STILLNESS THAT SETTLES WHEN WORDS HAVE LONG SINCE LOST THEIR WAY. SHE DOESN’T MOVE. HER EYES TRACE SOMETHING BEYOND THE WINDOW, SOMETHING SHE CAN’T TOUCH. IT’S NOT LONGING EXACTLY, NOR RESIGNATION. IT’S THAT STRANGE IN-BETWEEN PLACE, WHERE YOU FEEL THE WEIGHT OF WHAT YOU’RE WAITING FOR WITHOUT KNOWING IF IT WILL EVER ARRIVE. THE SILENCE PRESSES AGAINST HER LIKE AN UNSPOKEN THOUGHT – HEAVY AND INESCAPABLE. FOR A SHORT MOMENT, IT FEELS LIKE THE WHOLE WORLD HAS PAUSED, CAUGHT IN THE FRAGILE TENSION BETWEEN STAYING AND LEAVING.