Somehow I find myself wishing, not as playfully as an afternoon by a fountain with a coin in hand. But truly wishing, while holding my breathe and submerging myself into a pool of regret... wishing I hadn't noticed the difference between the steady, solid ground I'm walking on.. and the way it was made to shake. Like a volcano silently building up, I've erupted with curiosity. What happens now? That's far beyond me... There are so many things I don't know.
And, there are so many things I've learned while gone. On vacation, my time permanently on hold - it's only a matter of creeping time until my excuses are old. And it's all a matter of longing.
Isn't it always a matter of longing?