The unending stage of evolvement, not reaching its climax. One waiting room turning into another. Corner sandholes, plugged with investments of hopes and expectations. A pond of naiveness and promises to myself that does not evaporate. Aconsciously idealised construct of imagination, how everything should and will be, takes us away from a Sisyphean eternity, although it is only a consoling fantasy that acts as fuel for upholding everyday burning. Patience, San, listen carefully to the stuffy passing of time, accept your helplessness and keep on paddling.