I believe if patience were human, he would be a man.

Maybe an arrogant man, with time on his side,
Definitely a dominant man, with will and might,
The boyish instinct to tease and torture,
And confident, with no desire to improve…
Or impress.

He lounges, smirking insolently, enjoying every plead.

Just like a man.

He slips through your fingers and drives you insane.

Just like a man.

He often leaves you, when you need him most.

Just like a man.

He sometimes comforts you, and in those moments, you love him.

Just like a man.

Drawing you in, enough that you’ll stay true.

Just like a man.

But not quite satisfying every desperate ache…

Just like a man.

In those moments, when he stands at your side and holds your hand,

Or wraps you within his embrace, protecting you from misery,

Or nibbles your neck and shoulder with that sweet anticipation of what you believe will come…

You adore him.
You become his.

And then he disappears,
Just like a man.

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