Anticipation is a beautiful word for disappointment. Just listen to it. Say it. Taste it. It just rolls skips jumps off your tongue sounding all almost hopeful and thrilling, like everything’s about to burst forth from that single special word, spilling out of your mouth and into your lap and exploding into dreams coming to life all in one breath, one word, one gasp. Anticipation. It hear it all the time, echoing around me. I hear it whispering through the radio, in the creaks of the pipes, in the sputter of the stove, in the brother’s bouncing basketball up down up down. I hear it when I walk, when my shoes hit the floor in a slap slap slap and all around the walls mutter to each other. Anticipation. When you slammed the door it made me so sad to see you storming off in your new pants all alone, but I couldn’t hear what you were so upset about because the whole house was chanting anticipation anticipation anticipation. I didn’t mean to hurt you but I had to listen because I hate feeling guilty, and I knew you were going to go for it and I didn’t stop so I know you blame me and I guess when you look at it that way it is my fault. Alright already. Alright already. And now you’re disappointed, aren’t you my dear aren’t you aren’t you. I would feel bad but my computer keeps whispering to me anitcipation anticipation and I can’t I can’t I can’t. I know you would hear it too, if you just listened hard enough. Sometimes I wish you did, but then the street lights starts to sing and I’m just distracted. Maybe if you were crazy it would work better. Just try to anticipate a bit, okay okay okay. Hear it softly in the night when you’re asleep and I lean over and whisper all my secrets to you. Do you?