There goes the body again trying to find answers where only questions exist.

Where do we go from here? Why does hope feel so heavy? Who am I without love and direction?

Rilke said to live the questions, as if by following the curves

of their bodies you would be led to the full-stop of your life.

Of course, everyone has their answers and I am still here

writing of curves and bodies. Such is life they say. Did Rilke live his?