Watch.

Wait.

Run.

I Watch him walk and wait for his return. Watch him run and wait to feel something. Anger?

Lots of it.

Sadness?

Not enough.

Resentment?

It boils in my blood.

So I wait.

I wait for her to stop twisting the knife.

I wait for her to stop making something from nothing.

I wait for him to feel something.

Anything.

Anything at all just so I know I haven't been forgotten.