you ask a question
and you may know the answer
or you may know the possible answers
and you may know you may not like the answer
but you ask it anyway.
And when the question is answered
and the words are heard
and the letters are read
your heart drops with the finality of the feedback
because it's not what you wanted to hear at all.
And you wonder why you ever asked at all.
Because you never really wanted to know at all.
And you wish it weren't true, but you know that it is.
Do you love me?
Is there someone else?
Will you stay?
This is why some people never weigh themselves.
This is why some people never seek medical attention.
This is why some people never look in the mirror.
This is why some people never audition, interview, inquire, explore.
You always have a choice over which questions to ask
but you can't always choose which answers are to be given.
And, for me, it's impossible to stop asking.
So perhaps I should only ask the questions over whose answers I have some control.
Every time I arrive at a trailhead, a question is posed.
Every time I put on the gear, a question is posed.
Every time I chart a course, a question is posed.
Every time I turn a key, a question is posed.
Can I do this?
What lies ahead?
Will I return?
In the end, it's all up to me.
And perhaps if I don't like the answers I give unto myself, I have some ability to change them.
Some Things Are Better Left Unsaid
Some Things Aren't Better Left Unsaid
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