Are we made of atoms? Stars? Cells? Do we truly feel, or wish to feel? Do we have one soul mate, Or do we continue to love?
Many questions without any answers Leads to the curious discovery of truth. Is it the truth we wish to find, Or will we regret finding it? Curiosity is a mystery, A mystery without and end
We search the ends of the earth, For the answer to all. Some will never find satisfaction, Others will go mad Would that make them the Mad Hatter, Or a psychopathic mind.
Is love crazy? Or is it crazy not to love? Why keep searching, If you'll know you're wrong?