Maybe it�s the changing seasons, but something has been pulling on me, tugging at my shirt hem, filling my boots with sand - slowing down to a crawl while simultaneously growing more and more restless, like everything in me is balling up smaller and smaller; crouching and ready to spring, like I�m about to burst with years and years of something I�ve yet to pinpoint, like potential or something that�s never realized.

Maybe it�s the opposite and I never had any to begin with and this worried sore of building impatience is just a side effect of recognizing it.