I’ve yet to question why I stay in my little world and hold little worries about the outside.
I’ve yet to question why I’m so afraid to look beyond what I know and feel the sigh of relief to know I’m alone and its okay.
I’ve yet to fully qualify to question anything I do, when I haven’t even done anything.
Yet I’ve questioned that.
I have question, rather urgently, rather timidly, rather slowly, rather franticly the mysteries behind who I am.
I have questions my decision today.
I have questioned my ability to make mistakes.
Yet I haven’t question not once if who I am is wrong.
Because why would bare false witness to my own exsistence?