Waiting is a killer. You hang all your hopes, all your fears, all your dreams, and all your futures on the outcome of one moment without meaning to, and the days stretch on and there’s no answer to be had.

Yet.

You waver between being okay and being terrified, and it makes you sick and nauseous and giddy. Anything can set you off one direction or the other, because you’re a basket case of tied up emotions, you’re filled to the brim with all those hopes, fears, dreams, and futures — and there’s no place to put them.

Eventually, you get tired of the merry-go-round. And you drag out all your Tupperware, because it is airtight, and you wrestle each of those things into the too-small containers and pack them away in the darkest corner of the pantry so you don’t have to look at them every moment. But it’s all raw, all too fresh, and even though you can’t see them or touch them, they’re there in their little Tupperware containers and you know it. Sometimes, that’s all it takes to make the lids come loose, and so you run back into that dark corner and pound on them, but they’re never as sealed up as they were before.

They’re never quite sealed.

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