I wonder if I’ll ever write my novella, my memoirs, something to be remembered.
I wonder if I’ll find my love, my muse, the death of my lonely.
I wonder if I’ll find my calm, my safe, the end of my nervous.
I wonder if I’ll die the way I think I may, slow and blue and quiet-like.
I wonder, and I wonder, then I wonder a little more.7 comments