I am an active volcano getting ready for its big day, the day it will finally be. 

The events around are all blocked out cause what could matter more than the day it will come out. 

He can see it happening already, the dead rocks within are shining for the very first time, warmly breaking through his cracks.

 Its molten lava slides smoothly down her rough skin in a display of pure perfection.

His fantasies calm down the burnings in her soul. For seconds, she is full.

He wishes nature would sing along but all that comes to his mind is the image of the angry lightning striking his spirit.

She can't help thinking of the other side of her breakthrough; she sees how her eruption scares them away, how they are offended by her floating ashes. She is scared.

She is reaching out for the sky but her redemption is way out of reach.

 She is sad but she's not leaving. Not now, not yet. She is holding on to hope. To her beautiful image of that day. The day she will celebrate relief. The day she will celebrate rebirth.