what should one feel
when after so,
so,
so,
long-
they come back to see
that nothing has changed?

is it truly my intention
to find calamity
from dormancy?

or is it correct to be of deep concern
that what i have lived for
has died long,
long,
long,
ago?

does the walking corpse need say more
when it's last words have already been uttered?
or is the second chance worthless,
when it is destined to wander lifelessly forever?

what am i to be truly afraid of?
the change, or the possibility it brings?

if the standstill of my home
no longer welcomes me with delight,
then is it really home anymore?
or am i whining too much,
for it has never actually changed?

the abundance of change
terrified me.
but now that it is gone...

i am yearning for it.
and i do not know why.