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| There is a saying: Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought him back. Most people only know the first part of it and often times those who know the whole saying will let out an exasperated sigh about how no one ever mentions the second part. But there are times that satisfaction isn't satisfying at all.
A cat is curious about what the water feels like. The cat is now cold and wet and unhappy.
A child is curious about what happens when you drop things. His toys are now broken.
A teenager is curious about alcohol. She's hungover and can't remember a thing.
A mouse is curious about what the cheese yonder tastes like. The mouse is now stuck in a mouse trap.
A reader is curious about the end of the book so she flips to the last chapter. She's now disappointed and wishes she'd just kept reading.
Sometimes it doesn't matter and you can just shrug off what you found out. And sometimes you can't. Being curious is very dangerous. You have to weigh the possible outcomes and factor in the unknowns. A could happen or B could happen or maybe something completely unexpected. Do you really want to know? Is it important enough to pursue? Is it trivial enough that it will be okay if the worst happens?
If you pursue and follow your yearning for knowledge, what now? Say the worst does happen. Were you better off not knowing? Is it better to know something distressful or is it better to live in ignorance? They say "ignorance is bliss", but is that true?
There will be times when you find out things that make you shudder. You might wish you had never found out. But will it stop you from pursuing other bits of knowledge? Will it stop you from giving in to that tiny hope that maybe things will turn out to be okay? Or will you quiver under the shadow of bad news?
Will you risk the killing in the hopes of satisfaction?
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| in darkness you spoke tenderly,
you swore with full veracity,
in velvet words you promised me,
you confirmed my sweet fantasy.
but wait, my darling dear, you see,
your oaths had but vacuity.
such lies you told so easily,
i fell prey to your trickery
had you not thought your forgery
might cause a girl, undoubtedly,
distress and instability
when learn she of your falsity?
yet you still showed capacity
to weave a web of fallacy
without thoughts to integrity.
you knew my vulnerability.
i gape in incredulity
that you have the audacity
to tune me out, abandon me
with no regard to history
and in the end, regrettably,
you’ve proven to be cowardly.
perhaps i’ll learn eventually
you aren’t worth time nor energy
but until then, do this for me:
please forgive my verbosity
in striving for some clarity
to outline our reality. | | |
| sometimes you can just ignore it
sometimes you can laugh and turn away
sometimes you smile and crinkle your eyes
sometimes you grimace, averting your gaze
sometimes you role your eyes to yourself
sometimes you sigh
sometimes you run to them
sometimes you cry into their arms
sometimes you hold them tight, never wanting to let go
sometimes you clench your fists and swear
sometimes you scoff and laugh ironically
sometimes you glare
sometimes you yearn
sometimes you remember and reminisce
sometimes you blame yourself
and sometimes you snap
and sometimes you run away
and sometimes you hit cement walls and scream at the stormy skies
and sometimes you grip your hair and pinch your arms
and sometimes you hurl your questions into the air
and sometimes you sob uncontrollably because no one is there
and sometimes you don't tell anyone.
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| the click of the door seals her in. the house is not warmer than outside. nothing has changed. she breathes and sickly sweet aromas fill her lungs, like the lemonade sloshed sloppily onto an unsupervised child sticky between her fingers. breathe in, saturate her lungs with that sugary lemony tang. neglect has distilled this brew it is no longer the gentle murmur, but rather overpowering. three steps and she’s on hands and knees gasping sobbing drowning in lemon reduction. | | |
| she pauses before turning the key. she knows she shouldn’t have come, she knew looking through her yesterdays wouldn’t help— it never has. answers are never found in reminiscing. eyes closed, brow furrowed a lock of her dark hair falls across her face; the ends are still wet, the sensation sends shivers to the nape of her neck. her fingertips are numb in the cold air, but her palms are clammy. one deep breath she pushes aside those midnights, those three-in-the-mornings she ignores the safety pins and gloves, the scribbles and the pencil tips and she’s decided. in one swift motion she turns the key and opens the door. | | |
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