Waiting.

That's the feeling. I can put my hand on my chest and wait for the beat, but it will never
come. I'm always expecting something, anything. But there's no excitement with it, so I
suppose, I suppose it's like waiting.

Waiting for the moment for everything to be alright. To be what it all should be. To be alive
again, like a human being. I live a lifeless life, I dream this dreamless dream. Someday,
when my body finally erupts awake from sleep like a volcano, I will be a force, a presence
in all the scattered pieces.

I think I know what's happening, but it's all just a series of moments lined up, pieces of the
puzzle that has no picture to refer to.

Maybe the pieces will fit.

Maybe they won't.

But I know that I am an important part of it. Like the corner piece.

So I wait.

So I wait.