I wonder if he has <br />the same crooked little finger I have. <br />Does he stare at it in the same <br />irritated way I do <br />when there's not much else on my mind <br />or even when I have many more important things <br />to think about and do, <br />but still find myself cought up in my own minuscule flaws? <br />Is he left-handed like me? <br />She was, <br />or at least my memory of her permits her to have been. <br />She was the artist, the painter, the goof, and the <br />life of the party. <br />What was his contribution? <br />I doubt that I will ever know. <br />I admit that I am wanting <br />but not willing to make an attempt <br />for fear of learning something I don't really want to know. <br />Ignorance is bliss unless otherwise proven. <br />This is the way it's always been: <br />me wondering, wishing, but never taking action <br />and him wondering, wishing, but never daring to change. <br />At least, I think that's the way it is, <br />probably the way it'll always be.<br /><br />Amanda Lukas<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-way-it-is/
