again

I can't compete. I really feel like I can't compete in something that isn't even a matter of competition. But that's how I feel. So lost, with so many questions---things that slipped off unseen, though I felt them go (or let go?). There's a crease between my eyebrows furrowed by thoughts. I want to stop asking those questions, waiting, mouth open, tongue dry, hoping that the drops that I watch form will not be a mere mirage. I'm still waiting. If I leave now, that drop may fall, wasted. But I wish someone would tell me whether all have left for the sun. That the mud is dry and cracked. And that I should find another place. But if told that and I go...what if I don't see the tiny, delicate leaves emerging from the one seed that managed to convince the last drop to stay?...right there in the very crack that leaves it exposed to the harshness of the sky...and then, what if it were to die?