I am dissatisfied. There is an emotion, simmering inside of me. It has no name. It rises, gently, a wave on the horizon, melting into the background. It is longing, fear, but I don't know of what. It is a memory. It is strong not in the sense that it is aggressive, merely in the sense that as it rises, it gains an almost tangible sheen, silver and gold, it rolls off my tongue, but I know not what it is called. It tastes like honey, and the tang of the sea, and pines, and snow, and grass.

Everything is vivid. I can see touch feel breathe smell fear. I can taste the emotion; roll it in my mouth, looking for any sense of reality. It isn't there. It merely is, waiting, watching, in the back of my mind. Growing in beauty. Growing in strength. Growing to where it washes over me, and I run.

I fear what will happen if I let it take over me.