We never question why we might find a thing fascinating. Or beautiful. We just do. We are drawn to it. We fantasize about it. We ascribe qualities to it that may or may not exist in reality. Most of it exists in the eye of the beholder and unless we are a gifted artist or poet, we can rarely describe exactly what it is that holds our attention so keenly.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.