I
You think you're depressed.
You think you're depressed.
You think you're depressed, but you won't tell anyone out loud. If you say it out loud it will no longer be true. You do think there is something wrong with you, but rationalization is better than medication – so you will wait until you are better. You will wait until you feel happy again. You will wait.
II
You are waiting.
III
Your mother thinks you are fine.
Your mother thinks you are fine.
Your mother thinks you are fine, and you're the one that convinced her. You bring her flowers on your way to her house. They are paired with a fresh batch of Publix cookies and a fake smile, both she takes with genuine love.
You both talk about things you didn't expect yourself to be talking about at age twenty-four. She asks you about your engagement with Sam, you talk about how your ankle is healing. When she leaves momentarily for the bathroom you eye her medication she left on her kitchen counter with guilt.
You want to take them. You want to take them. You want to take them all.
By the time she comes back, you're sure you are depressed – but you don't tell her out loud. You tell it to her with heavy eyes and a longing goodbye hug. You whisper it to her in your "I love you."
You hope she tasted it in the cookies.
You will wait until she does. You will wait.
IV
You are still waiting.
V
You tell Sam that you don't know if you are ready. You tell him it's too early in your relationship for you both to make this type of commitment. He tells you that he believes that he is ready, but that he wants to be ready together. You believe him.
He is too good to you.
He tells you he will wait for you. He will wait for you.