the seed

Waiting down here in a cold basement I wonder what keeps certain seeds from splitting and seeking light. I like to think I'm a sprout but maybe I'm still a seed. It will soon be spring. Where will I be? I want to be loved by the sun, to actually feel it instead of just know it's there. Sometimes you might see the sprout if you look in my eyes and if you listen to my silence you might hear it whisper "love..."