It will be.

I wait. Because I kNOw this will be huge. I am well aware that somehow someway at some specific time thats been destined to arrive sometime soon, I will arise, grab a an everyday box and words never before constructed this way. Words packing such deep meaning they were conceived in the black. See, I am certain. Like the wind in my face every day. Like my love for these words that are yet to arrive. Like my very awareness of my existence! I know! I am sure these words will come. But until then, I write about things not concerning. Concepts with no keys. Try opening nothing. Graze on the grass staring at the shut doors. It rains and these words wait out in it, drenched, cold, yet light as breeze. I write. Words that don't move mountains. They are descriptive of the inception of the volcano. I wait. Awaiting a start and waiting. Nail biting. La di da gazing. I wait. Nothing concerning enough. Every soul bleeding out humanity. But nothing. Not now, not then. Fingers tingle. Perspiring and I am pale. So I wait.