Are you breathing just a little, and calling it a life?
How can I know, truly, who I am, where I am meant to go, and what I am meant to be?
As I grow older, the world changes as only a matured set of eyes can see; the whimsical haze of childhood wanes like a tired filament crackling inside its lamp, fading to pale and left behind to be swept into the dusty corners of memory's keep.
