Everything remains the same,
and in the old I begin to fidget.
I yearn for new smells and visions.
I need new places,
new faces.

Being in the doldrums washes me out,
like a tide rising by the moon.
I feel wrung out to dry,
my shoulders dangling from clothes pin lines.

I can't sit still,
as if I sit upon pins and needles.
I can't breathe out,
only in.
I need to move,
to begin again.

I am restless.
I need an adventure.
And yet, here I wait.
Hanging from a fish hook,
I am merely bait.

But what I will pull in I do not know.