Sometimes I wonder
I wonder if it's that I think I'm not good enough, or if I'm afraid I am.
I wonder why I can't just accept things as they are,
But must always question the how and why.
I wonder if she laughs at me when I can't hear her.
I wonder if she thinks about me as often as I do her,
Though she is busier by far, I'm sure.
I think the paradox to curiosity is that often,
Not knowing is what makes life exciting.
It's what drives that spark in the eye.
That infinitesimal catalyst for a better now.
Maybe I think too much, I know it seems so to me.
Maybe I'm afraid to just be.
And maybe, just maybe, being afraid is what scares me the most...
