Wonder

Dear Toronto,

I’m writing to you because I’m curious. Curious as to the yet uncertain idea that you might have some answers for me. Before I dive head first let me start by stating that I believe my path chose me and not the other way around. So the fact that I’m writing to a city should come as no surprise.

I’m 25 years old. I work at night so to avoid dealing with traffic. I sleep a lot because my brain can’t decide what to do with itself, and I’m continually plagued by wonder. Mostly the wonder of whether or not there’s enough time to finish what I want to start and that invariably keeps me from ever finishing anything.

I love writing, music, and being left well enough alone, but mostly writing. Writing makes me feel purposeful; as if I’ve accomplished something very difficult. However, sometimes such as right now ironically this hobby doesn’t feel difficult at all; though there are times writing makes me wish I was dead; two extremes for my double life.

As of right now I’m longing to pay you a visit. But that will never happen because I’m married, and my wife would probably eventually leave me if I started taking trips without her; ultimately leaving me to wonder who left who.

I'm out of quips for now.