Why

She thought that at this age, the questions would no longer keep her up at night. But she also thought that by this age, she would be a billionaire lounging on her yacht docked in her own island. Yet here she is, in her shoebox of a home, with the unwashed dishes still in the sink, grappling with questions she doesn’t really have time for, as she needs to be up in five hours to prepare for her Monday meeting with her employer. The work she actually loves, the home she adores, the dishes she can deal with, but the questions…

She shakes her head. The questions.

She's no longer five. Or fifteen. Or even twenty-five. Wasn’t she supposed to have life already figured out? But then again, is that yet another myth that people were fed, to keep us in line? That when we reach a certain age, we should no longer be asking questions but providing answers? Or at the very least, keeping our mouths shut (and our brains off)?

Why does it take an accident,

Before the truth gets through to us?

Cages or wings,

Which do you prefer?

Ask the birds

Fear or love, baby

Don't say the answer

Actions speak louder than words  

(Louder Than Words, Jonathan Larson)