“What’s wrong?”

Thus asked my youngest sister. How to answer that, is the bigger question. Existential fear, that I’m searching for meaning, trying to make sense of the world, and it feels like I will never find the answers? That sometimes it appears as though I am the supporting cast in my life’s movie (always on the outside looking in), on the periphery of the action, the action that does not seem to be happening? That I have… so many hungers? That my downloads are taking too long? So, as a smart arse I reply, “Everything is wrong.” She crumples her face in puzzlement, not seeing the irony in that statement. I laugh. Youth, what beautiful blissful ignorance.



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