It shouldn’t have to be so hard.

And so I sit here, on the carpeted floor in a hidden corner in the Literary section of Borders. I stare at a random page in some hardcover book I randomly picked from the shelf, words on the page dancing in front of my eyes, forming unrecognisable scribbles. It seems somewhat disrespectful to just stare mindlessly at the legendary words of Jane Austen, but right now, I really couldn’t care less. The only reason why I’m holding on to the book is just so I don’t look too weird sitting on the floor and staring into the blank spaces. I’m just waiting. Waiting for what, you ask? Honestly, I don’t know. Perhaps waiting for a promise to be fulfilled, waiting for the phone to ring, waiting for the minutes to just tick pass. I have never liked waiting for people, yet, it seems that I’m always the one waiting for things to be fulfilled when it comes to you. My mind wonders: “It shouldn’t have to be so hard, does it?” “If it isn’t so hard, then how should it be?” I reply to the blank void in my mind. “It just shouldn’t have to hurt so much,” it answers.

And so I close Jane Austen shut, place her smiling cover back onto the shelf, slung my bag across my shoulder and walked away.

My mind was right – it shouldn’t have to be so hard.