Waiting for someone, waiting for something, the rigid process of waiting itself, waiting for Godot. Waiting as a mental illness, anxiety, depression. Hope is born and crushed again, fingers are twitching restlessly. Boots scratch over pebbles, as silent waiting finally stops being an option.
Our heroine is not redeemed. In the end, she leaves, walking ahead with seemingly firm steps.
Has she found what she’s been waiting for, or has she just grown tired of waiting?