The Wait

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Bathroom Sessions: The Wait

The story behind the song…

April in Cambodia, and the water no longer runs cold from the tap.

I take four showers a day, including one at 4am when I wake up soaked with sweat beneath the humming ceiling fan.

Once every couple of days, the sky turns a bruised, pregnant purple in the afternoon and the wind starts whipping dust around the town. The promise of rain, though, is not delivered.

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Just wait, I’m told. Wait until June when the heavy heavens split open, the river rises and the streets flood. But June comes and goes and still there’s no rain. My body bides its time, waiting for the scent of moisture on the air. I wait, too, for the relief of hearing a far-away voice in my ear. But phone calls are a pale replacement for the real thing; like a few seconds of drizzle when the dry, feverish land calls out for a thunderstorm.

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Blinding white sky, dry fields, and still no rain. 

 

The sky is a silver-white haze

The sky is a silver-white haze

It dazzles the days

 

The water runs warm from the pipes

The water runs warm from the pipes

Even at night

 

We wait

We wait

 

I talk to my love through a screen

He’s pixels and plastic, not skin

I’m trying

 

I find myself counting the days

Calculating the distance through space

There’s no trace

 

We wait

We wait:

The rain.

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