SOMETIMES

I've always wondered...

Why do we do the things that we do?

Why do we say the things that we say

Why do we think the way that we do?

I've always been fascinated with how the mind works; how it absorbs information, and how it processes all that it ingests.

I've always been fascinated with how fragile and delicate the mind is. 

I've always been fascinated with the sheer force and power of the brain; how powerful it is. 

I've always been impressed with how it's become a foundation of sorts; the basis and core crucial part of who we are that motivates our every intent.

This fragile, delicate, and powerful organ, could it give us answers? 

Reasons? 

Justifications; to our sometimes? 

Could it bring sense, reason, and understanding to the ability of a human to royally screw up and present their worst face out into the open?

Could it rationalize the many faces and hats we wear in life?

Question:

Are we aware that we each have a sometimes? 

Do we realise that for as long as we live, a sometimes is inevitable; that it can't be concealed, glamourised, and shelved?

Don't you find it unnerving, having to accept this about yourself - having a sometimes? 

Isn't it daunting; acknowledging the most vulnerable and despicable side of yourself and being at peace with its existence, and how frequently it pays you a visit unannounced.

I'd like to think that "Sometimes," can be a lot of things. 

"Sometimes," can vary.
"Sometimes," can change and evolve, but it will always exist for as long as we live.

I have "Sometimes," 

Quite a few, actually:

Sometimes, I am selfish
Sometimes, I am lazy
Sometimes, I am ungrateful
Sometimes, I am a liar
Sometimes, I am a bully
Sometimes, I am insensitive
Sometimes, I am a coward.

All of these make a cameo. They announce their presence at different times in my life. 

It's scary, sometimes, seeing them play out. It's scary, seeing a new sometimes surface. 

A new face is shown, one you wouldn't wish others to see, but one that shows up anyway.

 You end up surrendering. You become patient and wait for it to do its thing and leave.

I always wonder, if this is what life is really about. Is sometimes a brutal reminder of our mortality? Is it a reminder of the reality of us being imperfectly perfect?

What's your "Sometimes?"