I feel like I have been waiting for something to happen, and it already has. What, I do not know. A weight seems to prickle at my conscience, like that of unknown or unknowing sins. An unsettling peace hangs lightly over me, steeped in a crackling silence, like the tension between a warring couple putting on smiles for the audience. I might know why: the trepidation of newness, that feeling that comes from venturing the first few steps and not being able to ever turn back. You are already committed to crossing the gap between what you are and what you could be, mayhap even, should be. Thoughts bubble, and doubts and decisions leave me feeling itchy and restless, as if I am shedding this skin, these parts of myself, the chubby sheltered comfortable parts, and stretching into a sweet aloneness. Invigorating. I feel fidgety with the energies of blossom, heavy with expectations of what it is to chart my own path, a different path from the one I have been on. However, you may argue, I have always been on this road, and so have you, on your own road, and now I find myself at the bend in it from where I can look back and barely see where I was. Hello, Uncertainty.