I don’t understand

Just me. Being honest. 

I could provide an “answer” for most of the below that I don’t understand. But a known answer and a felt Answer exist in very different realms.

I don’t understand why people drive with their windows up beautiful days.

I don’t understand how they can carry on without stopping agape
at pink-tinged sunsets with gold-rimmed clouds.

I don’t understand why some beautiful things
seem to exist solely for the sake of being admired.

I don’t understand how it brings me such delight to observe children lost in their play.

I don’t understand why peace is found beside crashing waves and slipping sand.

I don’t understand how a smell can feel so good, and so sad, and so hopeful,                    and so full of memories so close as to be almost palpable.

I don’t understand why loneliness is more real when you aren’t physically alone.

I don’t understand how, when we crave deep connection,
entirely disconnecting can be most healing of all.

I don’t understand why hope that is broken and trust that is lost
hurt the most of all.

I don’t understand how our deepest of sighs can be more honest
than our most profound of words.

I don’t understand why encouraging words to a grieving heart
feel emptier than none.

I don’t understand how empathy makes and emotion real
and laughter truly is better than ibuprofen.

I don’t understand why my faith felt so much bigger
when my understanding of the world was so much smaller.

I don’t understand how we all gain knowledge about what to say
and how so few gain ability to make their feet go.

I don’t understand why cancer. And congenital diseases. And disabilities.

I don’t understand how time is coming, passing, past.

I don’t understand why I feel things so deeply, too often, too much.

I don’t understand how to free myself from your expectations of me

I don’t understand why the falling of late autumn leaves
evokes within me a visceral awareness of the temporality of things.

I don’t understand how to discern when it’s best to keep fighting forward
and when to let your weary heart stop striving.

I don’t understand why words written in duress are so much more honest
than those written in delight.

And I don’t understand how my spirit could feel so sure of you
before I realized the impending end of me and you.