I need to feel the sudden rains of change that will flood out my fears of stagnant waters. I need to be on the side of an unknown mountain in an unknown desert eating a watermelon, spitting the seeds to the sky and laughing while I watch the moon rise. I need to Wake Up in a tree, wearing every article of clothing I own, because the salty breeze is cold. I need to move.
This is the waiting season, where my unripe goals hand with the mangoes, crying for the summertime sun. This is the waiting season where I pace in the ever shrinking circle called Mundane, and exhale question marks. This is the waiting season where I dare not break the skin of my dreams until I can smell them from the ground.
This is the waiting season, this is the waiting season, this is waiting season. And all I have to do is hold out.