For the lame...
I’ve always envied the charm of others. People whom they say have, “personality.”
Those who woo with silk smooth strings of pearl laden parables placed gently around the neck of the one who hears, enchanting them to lend their ear just a little...while...longer. The ability to craft fast sailing ships with words that carry hearers to a far away land called homily, where full audiences are captive to the tempestuous waves of one’s visceral irruptions of seductive charm.
You see, I’m a lame. The duck who rides the waves and doesn't care to give a truck the chance to run it over. The highways and byways, where the traffic of impressionable persons never seems to cease, was never home for me. Never a place where I found comfort.
I instead prefer the waves of others.
I enjoy the sound and the song of the seance that brings life to dead bones in valleys left dry by the fleeting chants of yesterday’s revival. But, the gift of making the dead rise up and walk was not imbued in these lips. Instead, I was given the lame one’s gift. I was given something far more subtle, far less suasive.
Patience is not personality. Patience is not the charisma that gets them standing on their feet! Patience is the power to keep them walking past you. The power to propose they never see you and to do it without words. Charisma is the flame that draws the flies and keeps them fixed with hearts strangely warmed! Patience is not. Patience is very cold, and seldom draws one.
One person alone.
But, when one does come. When patience has captured her sole, her loan of borrowed time absolves and time is given pause like cougars set to pounce.
You see, that’s what patience is: borrowed time. My “ability” to wait is little more than your ability to tolerate my unwillingness to effuse; emote; evoke any sense of relatable humanity. And once your curiosity gives in to my unwillingness (if it ever does), well, the waves greet us, calling us back once again to swing and sway. Only, this time, we’re not alone.
This is for the lame.