It's funny thinking about random little things, the kind of little things that seep into my thoughts and sit there for a while. I look over each individual detail and inspect them, string them out in a line, or in some cases a few. I watch, I gaze, I spectate. I try not to think too hard, but when I do it comes to a point of tremor. I can't push too hard upon one thought before it becomes more than a string. Soon a web is weaved. A canvas is painted upon, a bridge is built.
And if there is a question, forget about it. There are always questions. And every question leads to another question. I guess life is a web of questions. And when we try so very hard to get one singular answer, it slips away, like smoke. Completely intangible, slightly incomprehensible, blatantly distant. And though sometimes I wish there was an answer to everything, I begin to realize that there are many questions unanswered. Life is indeed a big glob of questions. And that is perfectly fine.