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Waiting for God is like... You're expecting a guest. You haven't seen them in ages. You know they're coming, although you forget the exact time. And you don't need to impress them—they'd probably sleep on the floor, but why wouldn't you give up your bed? And it's not clean enough and you don't have matching curtains and they're not gonna care because they love you but you'll still probably do your best. Scrub the counter, at least. So you try to stay up to greet them but they're late or you were wrong about the day and you keep dozing off. All you really have to do is be at home when they knock and you'll wake up and figure everything out when they get here—but who wants to answer the door half-asleep? And you can probably get a few more things done while you're waiting. You can light a candle—that's welcoming, right?
So maybe you stay up doing dishes or maybe you give up and go to bed, but the knock makes you jump either way. It's light outside when you let them in, and that's not right, it can't be morning already. The windows are dark. Anyway, you're pouring them tea and apologizing for the mess and you realize they're not a guest at all—they live here, actually. Have your whole life. They probably make your lunch every day. Your house isn't yours at all, now that they're here, now that they've arrived and always been here. It's been yours, plural, yours together, and isn't it lovely that you don't have to worry about the curtains matching anymore? They've already seen them and chosen to stay every time.
There's another knock at the door. They arrive and you pour them tea. You get some sleep. You stop being surprised when your lunch is ready to go. You're expecting a guest. They make themselves at home; they are at home; they've been making themselves a home.
Your days are spent opening the door. They've been gone for so long; how could they have left you; why are they always forgetting to use a coaster and leaving icy circles on the wooden table; why can't you have any privacy in this house; you can't find them anywhere; this is only home when they're here; they keep arriving and you keep making tea do you think they'll ever get tired of tea do you they'll get tired of you opening the door half asleep do you think they're secretly annoyed by the mismatched curtains
Someone knocks on the door. You are interrupted. You keep forgetting you're expecting a guest. You were hoping they'd come and interrupt you. Someone knocks on the door. You're awake. You always make enough tea for two.
Eventually someone doesn't knock on your door. You find them on your doorstep waiting. You've been expecting a guest. The windows of your house are open all the time now, even though it's dark and cold, and you make your home some tea. It's never cold inside, as if opening the door let in warm air instead of cool. The candle you lit has been burning without getting smaller. You can't remember why you used to be surprised, why waiting was frantic. You wash the dishes because that's the next thing to do; because you wash the teacup of your not-guest like it's the chalice of a king.
One day you don't have a door anymore. You can see through the walls of your house and the whole galaxy spreads out before you. They're expecting a guest. You walk outside. The universe makes you tea.
In the past two months alone, I have written 200k words for my Advent Month and I am blown away by that. Then I realized that this year alone I've written 500k words and I think that's one of my biggest years of writing ever.
Just wanted to say thank you to anyone that has read something of mine. Whether you liked it or not, I appreciate you stopping by. I'm thankful for all of the comments I get and I'm also thankful for all the silent readers that cheer me on despite me not knowing. I feel it though, so thank you! Thank you all for a wonderful year of Drarry and a wonderful year of writing!
my datemate has been thoroughly educating me about final fantasy 7, including showing me the movie, which had absolutely zero plot whatsoever and it was PERFECT that way??? like. must a movie have things happen in it. can it not simply be an hour and forty minutes of flexing how many polygons the animation department has access to now via baller fight scenes loosely strung together to make a character study. advent children was a masterpiece, you cannot change my mind.