sometimes I struggle to remember how I’ve gotten to what I’ve become,
and others I don’t even ask to remember before it all comes crashing in.
I do nothing but question-
how many people must see something for it to exist?
who determines was makes wasted time waste?
if I could go backwards, would I?
how do things always fall in a way that feels like this was the only way they could’ve when I never even know the sticks of fate have left my hand?
if I let go, would I fly or would I fall?