The wait

​I sit at the waiting room. Minutes pass by, tediously pushing each other off of the clock on the wall before me. We are just a few people here, in Bispebjerg Hospital at 11 AM of this sunny autumn Tuesday. I’m not the oldest, nor probably the only one who’s unemployed here, for what I can see around. But maybe I’m mistaken. Maybe we are all very different. Yet, we all ended up here, about to get tested for STDs.
Our numbers are called in the loudspeaker, in a very dry Danish monotone. I eventually find myself alone, still staring at the “safe sex” poster besides me, that I cannot really read. Suffocating behind a light blue face mask. Bored. “I’m done with this shit,” I mumble between my teeth; “Puta madre.”
I reread my last blogpost, before going to bed yesterday. It comes to me now, once again. The anger towards my ex C is still fresh. I can’t forget, I refuse to forgive. But, honestly, it comes from a different place, this feeling. It’s way more profound than simple resentment. It’s fear. I’m afraid that forgiving is the final nail in the coffin. The turn of the page, the “out of sight, out of mind” decision. My love towards her, as questionable as it is, still hangs from a very frail, corroded last thread, about to give. Forgiving is the blade to cut it lose, to set myself free. It’s also the last step of my grievance. Acceptance. Ending. Death and rebirth in a new world where she’s not even a memory, not even real.
“Silence is violence,” a song I once heard said. I ghosted her in the end, and this exercise of liberty right now feels futile. But it’s not. I know it’s not. I know that this pain has not been in vain, as her silence and refusal to ever reaching out is a confirmation that my choice was right, after all. That my thoughts and premonitions, and the hurtful gut feelings and common sense, were correct. It’s fucking sad. Though truth triumphs, it aches just like a major loss.
I’m done now, in this fucking hospital waiting room. I was done back in September 2018, when we met for the first time. And I was done every time I fell back in love with her, every single time I did.
None of the women I’ve met after she left have added anything crucial to my story. There’s no progression in their raw numbers, nor the long strings of hair trapped under my bed and on my sweaters. No new knowledge, no breakthrough, no groundbreaking discovery. Just a bunch of crosses on the same checkbox in my list, overlapping each other. Like the minutes on that fucking wall clock, mocking me as I keep on waiting to get my urethra painfully swabbed and my blood taken.
The doctor finally sees me. Asks me all sort of routine questions, as she looks at me as the slut I am, while taking notes on her computer. The nurse scrutinies me from her chair, measuring me from afar. I wanna say it was all worth it. I would love to shout their names, their careers, their achievements, the sounds they made when I fucked them and their last message or conversation before they left. But, again, it’s just numbers and stats and blood samples and my penis being touched by two women I don’t wanna screw.
The sun softly lands on my face, on my way back home. It’s nice and warm, for December standards. And all I can think about is C, my long gone ex. How I loved her unique voice, her smiley eyes looking at me from behind her glasses and the weekend newspaper. Her smell after working out and the look she gave me when she woke up yet another morning with me in her bed. How she hugged me from behind when we cooked, how she held my hand under the blanket, on the plane, on the bus, on the train, or on the streets. Of every country, town and city we were in.
Yes, my friends, I am fucking done. But where is she? Where’s this One who’ll love me better than my ex, better than all of them who’ve been here before? Where is she? Her, who’ll make love to me on our third day of a hike without showers or proper toilets? Who will gladly chase me all night long under the duvet? Who will come to my aid when I call, who will hold my hand in the rain, who will watch Logan on a pirated copy on her computer and put on cute glasses and hold me in her yellow sofa until we fall asleep? How long will I have to wait?

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