And the thing is, it works for you. Time is on your side in this arrangement. You can take three years to decide if you want something and then, when you finally do, go find it. The door stays open. The option doesn't expire.

For women it's a different math and everyone knows it and almost nobody says it out loud.

I'm not talking about biology as a destiny. I'm talking about the weight of a ticking thing that you carry and he doesn't, not in the same way. I'm talking about the very specific exhaustion of being someone's "I'm not ready yet" for long enough that you start to wonder if ready is even a real destination or just a thing people say to keep something warm without committing to it.

The cruelest part isn't the waiting. It's that the waiting looks, from the outside, like patience. Like maturity. Like you're being understanding and not putting pressure on anyone. And maybe you even believe that about yourself for a while. Until one day you realize patience and postponing your own life are not the same thing, and you've been confusing them for years.

Men get to be undefined for as long as they want. It costs them almost nothing. Women pay for that undefined time in a currency that doesn't come back.

I don't say this with anger. I'm just tired of waiting