I slept year round To finally wake up in the heart of this summer. In reminiscence My eyes unveil - All quivers farewells In front of them. The wait is within me; It was never about July - nor August; It has always been about the moment. Yet it is never the moment. Pieces of everywhere linger within me, As my skin sweats every thought And place I have buried myself in. It is never the moment. Hence why it is always my moment.