Adding Sugar to a Saltshaker

Anticipation hangs just inches above the tip of my tongue, it dangles there like an icicle in March and I, the foolish, wait without a care. It sways effortlessly, but strategically, almost as if a puppeteer with years of experience held the crisscrossed strings high enough above me just so my senses could imagine what it would be like if whomever held the strings needed to give their arms a well deserved break. After all, it has been almost a decade worth of time since the pale arms above me took a 15 minute break. I've come up with what I think it looks like too. Even though I can't see it I have associated it with the image of a small, crystallized granule. No color, no scent; considering it's size, and no way for me to knock it loose - it just hangs there. It used to have a scent but I think I became immune to it like you do to the scent of your own house. Now, you would think my hands were tied at my side and my legs were weighted by some grandiose slab of concrete shackled to my ankle, but that is hardly the case. I am frozen with fear, but fear that had once turned into humor, humor that had resolved back to fear, and now that fear decided to stay put. Not fear in the same sense as zombies or snakes or zombie-snakes, but instead fear of the unknown. Like if you were an infant again experiencing the feeling of pain or the feeling of happiness for the first time, both seem to have a pretty lasting impact. My uncertainty took over and now I only added height to the pedestal looming over me. Still though, I sleep fine and don't find myself looking up too much anymore. My neck isn't sore but my curiosity is still aching to taste whatever it is that hangs delicately above my tongue, even if the granule turns out to be salt instead of the sugary morsel I had always imagined.