Sometimes I wonder, when the days are shaded, if I’m too complicated. If I come with too many things to figure out. I wonder if I might be a riddle others don’t care to solve. But I heard something recently and it made me wonder; what if the best parts of life exist between complications?

What if the only shades of love you can see are muted and unsaturated? What if there are no goals worth striving towards? What if there’s nothing more profound you have left to find? What if it all has to be complicated to be as rich as it is?

Perhaps we must be complicated in order to lead extraordinary lives. Be there no grand adventures, bottomless loves, boundless wonder; be complicated. There may be more ease in the watered down versions of ourselves, but surely there is less color. Maybe I should be far less afraid of being complicated, and more concerned with the idea of ever wanting to be simple.

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