I know how this is insanity

I know how this is insanity;
I know how I am so stupid;
Yet I know
How I like the rose
I see at this side of the garden
I have never gone to before.
Not even close.
I haven’t tried. Haven’t dared.
I have always stayed
At the safe side
Where everything is normal
Where I could clearly see the leaves
And the skies
And myself.
I have always protected my sanity.
I have been sane—
At least I have been.

But at this side,
I find myself pleased,
Glad even.
I am caught off-guard.
I see myself smiling
As genuinely as I do when I dance
Or when I sing
Or when I play music
Or when I paint.
I hear myself whisper
Words I never thought I would
From that part of my heart
Which have been hidden.
Faced back.

I feel myself trembling
Against this huge passion
Against this huge liking
To pick the rose
And hug it
Realizing it’s still too small.

I smell the wrongness.
But how can it be so wrong?
How can it be that I should touch the thorn instead of the rose?
How?
Why?
Why not?

Too much confusion
Too little understanding

Too many paths
Too limited choices

Too great risks
Too small chances

Too many questions
Too obvious answers

I
Like
The rose.

I have always been open
To possibilities
But being at this side of the garden
Has never been one to me
Till it is.
And so is staying here.