There are things we don’t want to talk about, and the reason for it is that little secret we keep for ourselves. Not that we aren’t able to be completely honest, but tons of other things determined on how much truth we can express. Everybody has their own little secrets anyway—and that should be fine, shouldn’t it?

What if some questions aren’t mean to find direct answers? What if there are things behind them that you can’t really see, but always left unsatisfied because you can’t even understand what exactly you’re searching for? Like a mist ahead that you can see clearly, but no longer visible when you’re in it.

Trying to understand, open up a whole case, because there is a part of you that don’t know how to deal with it yet. You can’t make peace, while that little thunder is spinning constantly. You don’t let it owned you, but it does. Why shouldn’t it, if deep down, you agree there is something still haunting you? With all the other things that also somewhere, anywhere, around, needed your attention, because life doesn’t know how to pause.

Maybe, it’s not about searching for the best answer.
Maybe it’s not about a mind that think of it repeatedly.
Maybe it’s not about things that we should put in its right place.
Maybe it’s not about the conclusion we can make.
Maybe it’s about finding the right question.

If there’s a guilt, how much of it was meant for me?