There are questions that the curious mind will forever trip on. Curiosity is a cruel thing, demanding satisfaction with no regard for your well-being. An insecure thought, sneaking in through the back door while you fall in love in the living room, will seek answers from the curious mind, and the curious mind will have no recourse but to wonder.
A second pair of legs in bed, and you seek them out. A thigh you can grab, dare grab? But yes, you grab it. The legs seek you out, too. There’s nothing to be curious about. That’s a kind of answer. You search for me in a crowded room and I see you first, or you see me first, as I was searching for you. And that’s enough to answer curiosity for a moment. But it’s not enough for insecurity to be satisfied. It wants answers impossible to formulate. It is hungering.
A curious mind must learn a few things, throughout its life. Chief among them, a lesson relearned all the time, until the day you die and forget all you knew: some questions are not worth asking.
So you seek out the other legs, and you try to take comfort in that. An answer for a while.