Why do I sit year after year
Constantly staring into the rear
Of my life?
Why do I look day after day
To find reason or way
To my life?
Why do I think this life is about me when I am but a grain of sand on the beach? I am one of an infinite number of beings whose life, memories, feelings have come and gone like a blink of an eye. So who cares about the past or the future? Maybe only the present is relevant. What am I doing right now? Is that what's important? Is it good, or bad? Right or wrong? Funny or sad? Do I have an effect on anyone other than my family? Did my smile brighten someone's day? Did my curse make someone cry? Did my hug smother or console?
Someone writes a book that millions of people read. Then those people die as life goes. What good did reading that book do? It may have helped in the moments of reading but does it change the life of those who read it? And for how long, a day, a week, a second?
My questions go unanswered as I know they always shall. I wish I could stop asking them. Unfortunately the first question you ask as a child is "why". And it is never answered.