Poems About Waiting Novels & Stories

Just for a moment. Then pulled back. They stood in the garden. Roses blooming around them. Sunlight filtering through clouds. And for the first time in months… The waiting didn’t feel like punishment. It felt like hope. Small. Fragile. But growing.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Couples squeezed their hands together, friends nudged each other excitedly, and almost on cue, people shut their eyes to make wishes. A street vendor wove through the crowd, calling out, "Wanna check out these wishing bottles? Write your wish on a slip of paper, and I'll hang it on the tree for you! Wishing under a meteor shower makes it extra lucky!"

The Weaver's heart. The rot in me stirs, tendrils curling around my ribs. *"She's waiting,"* it purrs. *"She's always been waiting."* I ignore it. The storm is ash, but the rot is worse-a patient, hungry thing. It dreams in my sleep now, showing me visions of Eden with the Weaver's needle in his hands, stitching the world into a tomb.

Everything was ready, the food was looking so appetizing and the whole wall was filled with the inscription "I'm sorry please give us another chance" I looked at myself in the mirror countless times making sure I looked good. Now it's time to await her arrival, one hour has passed so she'll be here from now on. I kept glancing at the door every moment waiting for her, one hour turned into two yet she's not here, three hours passed she's not yet here, I kept holding tightly onto the flower that I bought for her hoping she walks in through the door any moment from now Six hours yet she's not yet here, I'm still standing in the middle of the hall awaiting her, the door suddenly opened and I rai

Adrian paced back and forth in front of the hospital courtyard, occasionally glancing towards the hospital exit, hoping that the person he was waiting for would appear soon. But after waiting for a long time, the person he was waiting for did not show up. Adrian glanced at his expensive watch from time to time, saying angrily, "Where are they, actually! It's taking so long! I've been waiting here for 10 minutes, but they still haven't arrived! What are they doing in there, anyway, that I have to wait so long! Do they think I'm unemployed or something? Damn! This is really annoying!"

and that word lingered longer than anything else, because pending means unfinished, unresolved, waiting. Waiting for the moment it decides again. And next time, it won’t ask.

I took a deep breath, the air filled with the scent of coffee and freedom. "I was thinking that I used to believe love was everything in life." I squeezed Leo's hand, looking at the light glinting off my ring. "But the truth is, nothing waits for you forever. Especially a love that you strangled with your own hands." Luckily, when one door to darkness closes, life often opens a window to the light. "Let's go, Leo. We're going to be late." "Late for what?" "For embracing our future."

My heart pounds faster, faster, faster. The forest is silent and waiting, waiting and still and holding its breath. The world waits, and I wait with it, wait with it like I have any choice, any choice at all. The world waits, and it is more than I expect, more than I can bear, more than I think, more than I know, more than I know how to wait, how to wait for. The forest is quiet, quiet with the anticipation, with the anticipation of the rest of this, of the rest of my heart, of the rest of my life, of the rest of me.

Fathia was waiting for the day to break, she couldn't sleep, she was rolling on her bed till day break, and she woke up early In the morning did her regular morning chores, and she bath, dressed up waiting for Peter, and her mom asked, “are you going out this morning?“ “why did you asked?“ Fathia asked, “you look bright and cheerful this morning” her mom retorted, “I have a feeling that something beautiful Is coming my way” Fathia said,

He was the top student at Sterling High School, a very outstanding guy. What hurt him most was that the girl he liked really liked that other boy. Year after year, Luther kept telling himself to let her go, that they would never be together in this lifetime. Still, he could not accept it. He had met her first, after all. Like holding a one-way ticket that would never reach its destination, Luther waited for eight years. The pain of longing even drove him to pray at churches again and again. He only wanted one chance, one opportunity to stand before her openly and proudly.