Every second,
I feel every second,
I count every second,
every second of opportunities slipping right through my fingers,
every second that could have been spent on my dreams
and not on staring at the wall with despair.
I’m waiting and waiting, just as you said.
“I still have time,” you said,
but do I?
Or is that just your way of saying you want me to stay alive?
At any moment, I might die,
I might leave this world waiting for you to say it’s time.
But now I’m not only waiting for you,
I’m waiting for when I’ll finally get so frustrated, so tired of waiting,
that my trust and faith in you will disappear.
Maybe then, I could finally fulfill myself.
I’m also waiting for death to say, “It’s time.”
Maybe he can end my waiting.
I don’t want to die,
but it’s hard to keep living like this.
For how long can you really suppress someone’s passion,
someone’s dreams?
Every second that flashes through my eyes hurts,
leaving me in despair,
knowing so much could have been done.
But you said, “There’s no need to rush.
You still have time.
Trust me, it’s not time yet.”
But do I really have that much time?
Will I really live so long?
I don’t know when death will knock at the door.
So is waiting really the smartest thing to do?