It comes, like an old friend, patiently waiting for another chance. Chances to ride the wave of unease and unconditional concern, of questions best left unanswered, unasked.
I wait for things to pass, but they don’t. I wait for things to get better, but they don’t. I waive the rights of second glance, second chances, second hopes.
My old friend lies. My old friend steals the moments of a day and gives me seconds of solitude lost in thought and nothingness. My old friend is no friend.
Waiting to take myself back, I rest, I watch, I hope.
My Quest 