The Art of Not Knowing

I sit and wait.
For something I can't really see.
Something I can't really feel.
But the bird and the tree,
They all know what I don't.

So, several moments pass,
in rapid succession.
I tell myself,
That I've been going for too long,
Not knowing,
Just growing.
For all eternity.

I've been the maestro,
I've been the director,
Of my own life for some time now,
But when it all falls apart,
And I know I should start.
Asking for help.

So, I pick up the phone,
Dial the number I can't remember,
The softest voice answer with the,
Brightest of innocence and ignorance.
"Hello..?"
Not knowing what to say, I say :
"Do you want to go for a walk?"
And that, my friend,
Is called the art of not knowing.