sitting empty. reverbing myself into each scratch. an eighteen year old itch that just won't go away. beneath the surface, the luke-warm entrance appealling itself to those with multi-facial dimensions.

anad then it rings. the alarm sounds and i feel alright. i'll surface myself when the bells are chiming and sending signals.

one day: i'll be able to breathe a sigh of relief and know that there is so much more to look forward to.
one day: it'll all make sense.
one day: all the pieces will fit respectively.

and i can only hope that day reaches me with arms outstretched and ready, for i am leaving.