This craving I sense is the essence of why I am. I thrive on my curiosity. It keeps me going, stops me from rotting.
Dressed in a metaphor, a question is like something sexual. It is magical… until we wake to the flat summit of an orgasm.
An answer is a dead end. The quest in a question speaks much more than the mute halt of an answer.
An answer, perhaps, is a tiny oasis in the path of my trek. Though I will pleasure in it, I shall leap off it like a sky-seeking leaf lifting off a rippled surface, happily construing pleasure for pressure.
And when I achieve The Final Answer, Its event shall hold no more questions; in the answer of this question-less realm, I shall find my rest.
[Featured Image: Theodor Kittelsen’s Soria Moria from Norske Folkeeventyr]