I've been thinking a lot about how I want this upcoming month to be like a re-birth to me.  Like a new awakening into the many worlds that I've been so close, yet far from.  It frustrates me that I feel that way.  That I feel like I have been grasping these moments and vivid pictures in my mind and palms, but nothing has come from it, arguably due to my own laziness and striving for an impossible, ridiculous image of perfection.  I've always believed in quality over quantity, but such a belief is now starting to make me anxious beyond my wildest imaginations.

Have you ever felt like your mind is so close to you, but your body is so lost, almost detached from your soul?  That's how I've felt a lot lately.  Like my mind has so many hopes and dreams but my body is stiff, like cinder blocks or plain bricks.  But as stiff as it feels, the empty feeling is starting to surge with life again.  It's blossoming like a flower and making me excited  for a future that I'm unable to predict.  Just hope for.

But it's a future that I want and hunger for so badly, like a caged lion in a valley full of zebras.  I want to write again.  For the words to splatter along the tiny lines of my pages like cherry blossom petals through the wind.  For my feet to be free from the shackles, to fly to dreams that I thought were merely laughable before. But more importantly, I want a part of me back.  The part that's been so present, but gone for so long.  This lack of passion...it's baffling, contradicting, and funny all in one.  But it's also the thing that drives me to be better.  To be alive, and to be me again,

I want it.

I want it bad.