disquietude

i am sitting at the kitchen table typing away on keys that feel slightly sticky, a subtle mushiness. a laptop.

the dogs are playing around me.
i am tired of being around my brother's two ultra-hyper dogs.
tired of rover's barking.
tired of being trampled and gnawed on.
tired of the smell of dog poo (as if i ever had a fondness.)

i am feeling an odd familiar sense of...
disquietude.
i sit and sigh and wonder why...
there is a quiet longing inside of me.
to know the subtle intimacies of another & to be known.
to feel the warmth of human touch.
to kiss.

kissing is a singular delight.

patience has never been my virtue.
virtue has never been my virtue.

waiting makes me feel slightly agitated.
anxious.
i hate having to count minutes. weigh the seconds. feel the enormity of time.
then, a day has passed heavily over me in the blink of an eye.
waiting for godot.
waiting for enternity.