Too Many Questions Without Answers

There's this weird thing that happens when I read aloud what I have just written, especially when it is fresh and close to the bone.

As I write, it's all business...trying to be fluent and articulate what is in my head, then getting it down just right.

As I read it outside my head and I hear the words for the first time, unexpected emotions come to dance and play with my heart...then the tears flow, and it's like I am separated from the person who is reading...wondering what is going on for that to be happening.

Is this weird or normal?

And, what is normal anyway?

Is it the life we live?

Or is it someone else's life, as we imagine it to be?

Too many questions to which there are no answers, and not enough answers to the questions which do, but as yet, haven't been found.