Will you wait?

I like watching hunters hunt. The process before they make their prey — the milliseconds guarding silently before an attack, hands and paws ticking. 

You see it is the most beautiful display of patience I have ever come across; timed, concise, enduring, intentional  and extremely deliberate. 

Many say patience is a virtue, conferring on it moral standards that fall short of what it truly is—an art. 

For patience inherently does not serve good or bad. 

It serves whoever wields it best. The predator waits patiently for its catch, and the prey waits to be forgotten.

It is the most primal display of desire, the most desperate one. For you want something so well enough that you wait for it, gruesomely, anxiously and tediously, unsure if it will ever be yours.

And I wield my patience solely for one reason— to have you. 

Forgive me if my audacity disturbs you, but heaven knows the courage it has taken me to watch a thousand murders just to master this one desperate act of want. To endure the raging desire in me, desperate to have, instead forced watch you be another’s.

I am now where I have come to grow fond of: the shadows. 

Lurking and pushing pieces into place, silently and cautiously praying that you do not sound me out.

I know I may not be well received, for I have not asked for your consent to want you so hungrily, but consent be damned If it offers you the possibility to escape me.

So wait for me, as I have done you.

The connoisseur