So weeks pass. Then months.

You're not alone, but not together either. Not free, but not in a relationship either. You live in a strange limbo, where everything hangs on hope and occasional texts.

I remember that period of my life well. My phone was always nearby. Every sound made my heart speed up. If he texted, the day became easier. If he disappeared, everything inside me sank. This dependence was beautifully called the anticipation of love.

The hardest thing about waiting is that it eats away at the present. While you're waiting for other people's decisions, your own life is on hold. You don't make plans, you don't look around, you don't ask yourself what you want. All your attention goes to where there's uncertainty.

A friend once asked me, "If nothing changes, how much longer are you willing to live like this?" I couldn't answer.

Because I realized I wasn't waiting for a person. I was waiting for a fantasy of the person they could become.

After that, it was painful, but honest. I stopped justifying other people's uncertainty. I stopped considering rare signs of attention as proof of love. I stopped living between the lines.

Now I think differently: love doesn't require endless waiting. Sometimes someone simply doesn't need the same things you need. And it's better to accept this immediately than to hold on to hope for years.

You can wait for a train, for spring, for good news. But not for a person who doesn't choose to be with you.