It began with wanting questions as a prelude to a story, where your mind ran a race faster than what your eyes could take. At first she wanted to ask benign questions like “why them and why not me?” even before the story began. Then somehow as the story unfolded, she tried to make it about herself, even if the circumstances weren’t. She wanted the important character of the audience, the one where she bore the burden being the silent witness , rationalizing the plot even though nobody knew what the next scene was. Although it was wonderful being on the sidelines she wanted to be acknowledged for it too, she wanted somebody to come up to her and tell her what selfless work she was doing by do nothing at all.
This is where the problem began, where she wanted to the question the practical and the sane. Suddenly, this line of questions bought on more trouble worth handling, because she wanted to bare a soul she never had, to be fearless of consequences for efforts she never made. She wanted to refuse the reality and replace it with inanities. She wanted, she needed but she couldn’t give back. She couldn’t demand nor could she ask, only because somehow in these wobbly legs of selfishness, she forgot that needed experiences to stand.