I do not often wonder how long someone has been living, I wonder how long they have been feeling. I wonder how many people they know are now gone, I wonder when they last got to see their parents, and I wonder how many times they have picked themselves off of the ground. I’m curious of where they’ve been, and what they have learned. I’m curious if they still fear the unknown. How many times have they been in love, and how many people hurt them? I wonder if they have asked themselves the same questions. I am afraid to discover that none of it matters.