Words (A conundrum)

I both want to tell you everything,

but also keep it close.

This feeling is familiar, 

I recall it now that I think on it.

But it's different.

There is no certainty,

And there's a certain thrill,

with uncertainty,

a hopeful glee,

that too is scary. 

I understand better,

what is commonly described.

I have felt loss of a possibility,

a too late situation,

leaving in its place a despairing,

a mourning,

for what could have possibly been,

and an innate inability,

to leave it be. 

I have felt this in a familiar, similar way,

riddled with uncertainty in all the wrong places,

in a way I shouldn't have.

That tells me this feeling,

this feeling that I feel now, 

is different,

from what came before. 

That now,

it is what it is supposed to be.

Uncertainty is,

and it is refreshing,

and it is wonderful,

and, I'm certain, terrible in the best of ways.

It is, in one word, still something new.

And maybe that is something in itself. 

The words are not what I aim for,

but they are words.

That is because of this. 

A key to myself as well.

Inspiration,

and so many other things,

and not quite inspiration,

but more,

so so much more to do with me,

which would not have otherwise been possible, 

so it is inspiration,

in the end,

I suppose.

A conundrum.