Angela White I Waited [WORKING]

And now? Now you’re surprised. You stand there in the doorway, Angela White, looking like a photograph of something I used to love. You say, "I didn't think you had it in you." You say, "Why now?"

I waited so I could learn the map of your excuses. I waited so that when you finally looked at me— really looked — I would have the evidence. I would have the receipts of every night you came home hollow, every "I'm tired" that meant "I'm tired of you," every touch that felt like a goodbye. angela white i waited

But I didn't. I waited.

You think waiting is passive? You think it’s just sitting on a stoop, watching for headlights? No. Waiting is a violent art. It is a clenched fist inside a velvet glove. It is a clock whose ticking sounds like a hammer on a coffin. Every second I waited, I was building a case. Every hour, I was memorizing the exact shade of your betrayal. And now