I wanted him. Every single part of him, I wanted. To run my finger tips through his ever growing, fluffy beard. To stare in to his more  than blue eyes. To peck his lips more than a thousand times through out the day. To feel his massive bear hands wrap around mine like a strong, protective blanket, making me feel like he had me and was never letting go.

I was born with no patience. No amount of waiting as a child gave me any. Telling me "have some patience " didn't teach me an ounce of it. But knowing him, loving him, wanting him.. it taught  me how to have it. How to get use to that burning ache inside my chest, that rose with me first thing in the morning and stood with me throughout my day, before falling in to a dull slumber at night . I learned to live in the day dreams I had about him. I learned about lust, love and patience . The years past and every single emotion I had for this man grew, so deep I felt my body was not made of blood and DNA, but the roots that kept him so firmly grounded in my life .

13 years passed and still my patience grew. For not once had I had the chance to kiss him or touch him. And frustration was born and continued to grow like a child . And my mind began to speak words I never could quite cope with. And my hands bled from holding on to something I never truly wanted to let go of. But he, he never once held on to the hope I had. He let his die in a blazing fight. He washed his scorched hands in my salty tears and he took them steps to freedom, that I feared he would take.

And with that, the hope died. The lust and love remained. The patience felt wasted and abused, victimised and betrayed. Me, I felt an emptiness only the most broken could experience, for I had just wasted my heart on someone who never truly cared.