01:51:86 https://setwithfriends.com/game/cloudy-fleet-robin

I. The Anatomy of Anticipation

we're always waiting. waiting for something.

we exist in the perpetual suspension of waiting. for caterpillars to bloom into butterflies, for stormclouds to unleash the daylight, for the sand in the hourglass to reverse gravity, for the arithmetic of dawn to disprove night's theorem.

even the apocalypse becomes a scheduled event in the theater, constructing countdown clocks when the horizon coughs up the swallowed sun. humans cheer for an incoming asteroid to smash their civilization — the suffocating loop of waiting is too much to bear.

the wait stitches itself into quantum mechanics: schrodinger's cat oscillating between life and death, light years of history collapsing into paper cranes that unfold into different dimensions.

all this waiting crystallizes into fractured light, electrons caught mid-leap between energy levels, our silence etching probabilities into the colors of now.

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II. The Fractures of Now

why are we forever trapped between waiting and having waited?

the window dissects the palette of dusk. the glass stained with streaks of rain carves the cityscape into shattered prisms. beyond the glass, trembling lights smear into bleeding watercolors, as if to exaggerate the uncertainty in the unfinished sentence of life. each raindrop contains a microcosmic tornado. the pulse of windshield wipers traces the butterfly's path from summers ago, that fragile choreography turning into tomorrow's tempest, each beat scraping away milliseconds from nightfall.

here, in the display glass, shadows press against the fogged windows. temporary constellations in this liquid cosmos trapping us in the amber night, fossilizing within the translucent rain.

life itself is a paradox: to wait is to exist, yet existence demands us to keep waiting.

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III. The Mirage of Arrival

waiting, a juxtaposition of evanescence and hope.

the moon awaits the sun, the world awaits peace, and humans await change. yet the moon is destined to remain apart from the sun, and the world will never cease its conflicts. change, too, is like a mirage: forever parallel to tomorrow, an idea we chase yet can never touch. that is the essence of waiting.

as children, we wait to grow up, but after we experience fragments of life and human nature, we clamor for a rebirth. for a remedy for regret.

we are all actors in life's tragicomedy, costumed in borrowed desires and emotions. our scripts are written in superficial vanity, as we mask the emptiness with grand gestures. we rehearse for a grand finale that rewrites itself nightly.

time slips through our fingers — a comet's tail of almosts, leaving too many regrets and resentment. we pocket fragments of moments like stolen diamonds and hoard the joy of anticipation. yet when silence falls, we realize: what we await is not beyond the horizon, but the selves we buried under the layers of waiting.

day after day, in the fading light, I wait for a version of me.

she flickers in the theater of tomorrow.

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those were some of my thoughts.

inspirations behind this piece, if you're interested.
one is a piece of art that I made that I'll put on my blog later. vio3 suggested that the woman in my art looks like she is waiting, which then inspired me to create this. vio3 is truly the best person when it comes to ideas (and art fixing :))
two is allusions to asteroid 2024 yr4 and butterfly effect
and an allusion to tempest sonata (peak beethoven moment)

the comma after the "waiting" in the title is also intentional if you couldn't notice. it references to "beyond the glass, trembling lights smear into bleeding watercolors, as if to exaggerate the uncertainty in the unfinished sentence of life."

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it is quite interesting