Sometimes I feel that there's only half of me.
Half of me waking up at the right side of the bed.
Half of me eating at one side of the table.
Half of me walking up the street.
Half of me watching the sun set.
Half of me looking over the city lights.
Half of me struggling to fall asleep.
Half of me is out there.
My purpose, my completeness.
A person, maybe, or a passion.
A place, a calling, a story.
Only two options:
Wait or look.