wasting…

“am i really wasting my time, time on that one person who doesn't feel much, who doesn't do much, am i really in it, or just in the habit of trying? am i really throwing my efforts at a stone, watching my hands go raw against something that was never going to bruise. a stone doesn't flinch. it doesn't warm up because you sat with it long enough. it doesn't learn your name just because you keep saying it softer, gentler, like softness was ever the problem. i keep waiting for the crack, the small give, the moment it turns out to have been something else all along, something that could feel me back. but i think i've known for a while that a stone stays a stone no matter how carefully you throw yourself at it, no matter how many times you call it patience instead of what it actually is. so, am i wasting my time? maybe. but maybe the waste was never the time. maybe it was mistaking my own effort for proof that something was there to receive it.”