Puzzled. I have all these questions begging to be answered. Scattered thoughts, a thousand like a jigsaw puzzle without any image working blind upon it, never really knowing where the effort's going. Little fragments haunt me, me, leave me second guessing, thinking I see patterns that could just be nothing. My heart longs for knowledge, but I'm not deserving, nor can I request it without causing anguish. Rather, I accept this without explanation. What I crave still shrouded within an enigma