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Some people won’t even consider the idea of working with someone from the other side. They see the other side as so evil, there’s isn’t a snowball’s chance in hell they’d even begin to hear them out. It’s a condemnable act to even consider hearing what “they” have to say. And It wouldn’t matter anyway, it’s abundantly clear what they’re going to say before they even say it. What’s the point of listening when you’ve already written the script for them? 

Not me.

I’ll listen to anyone who wants to talk to me. I’ve always been that way. I’m an only child after all. We’re so in our own heads all the time, we just want to see what’s in another’s head too. We had no brothers or sisters to share those things you’d only share with your blood, so all the intimate details of our lives and our thoughts had nowhere to go but inside our own being. And now, as an adult, I need them to come out, so I can see if other people understand my line of thinking. They can tell me how they feel back, just as long as I get to share too.

I just prefer if people come up to me first.

It’s very hard for me to seek opportunities out. I’m surprisingly shy, but also exceedingly lazy. I’d prefer to wait and catch someone’s eye. I look good, don’t worry. I’m sitting in my chair. It’s not a nice chair. Just a grey, metal folding chair, Bernie Sanders style. But I’m dressed nicely. I’m trim, in shape, with a custom fit blazer, wide leg pants and fashionable suede booties. I’ve got my designer glasses on, which I don’t wear much these days (though I probably should).

And I’m smiling.

I’m smiling and waiting. I’m put together and humbled. I’ve got not a care in the world.

I just need you to come to me first. It’s my only request.

It’s not that I have a problem with reaching out. That’s gotten better over the years. I used to think that if I messaged or texted someone, I’d be bothering them. My problems weren’t anything, my reason to talk wasn’t that important. Everyone’s got something else they’re dealing with and maybe they don’t need you to pile on any more nonsense than they already have. Now, I understand that people who want to will reach back out when I call. It may take them longer than I like, but if they’re meant to be there, they’ll respond. Those who don’t should no longer be part of the equation. 

And I know when I’m not wanted.

My door never closes, though. It’s not quite ajar, but it’s not shut. There’s always a chance for a reemergence. I just know that at this point, it’s not going to be on my terms. I’ve made the choice to sit here and wait for something. I feel the anticipation building where something so major, so potentially catastrophic happens that it will upend life as we know it. I’m talking something we can no longer look away from. Something I hope to have a front row seat for viewing.

But maybe, before all that, or even any of that could happen, I have to consider my other side. The side I’m not willing to hear out. The side that’s angry and hurt. The side I can’t keep stuffing that down, and have to find ways to let out. Just because I don’t fly off the handle or lose my temper to an exaggerated degree anymore doesn’t mean I don’t still feel anger or disappointment. I can just control my actions better. I can come across looking better when there’s a disagreement. And maybe this time, my hair will be brushed for it. I’ll have upgraded to a nice bench instead. That way, the next person who approaches me won’t have his head bitten off. Maybe I have found my comfortable seat after all.

I just need you to let me know if you’re ever planning on taking that a seat next to me.

Go on, I’ll wait.

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