Lately, I've felt suspended, caught in a state of paralysis, waiting for something undefined. It's like being in a state of gestation without the promise of new beginnings. This spring has felt more like an extended winter, the erratic weather mirroring my inner turmoil. As I watch the clouds drift by, even they seem to move slower, echoing my sense of stagnation. Yearning to be like a river, aimlessly flowing towards the vast, familiar embrace of the ocean—a return to the comfort of the known.