It was never a question, for myself, whether I would one day
be what, and whom, I wanted to be.
The fact had always stood,
with opportunities in abundance.
But there that day the questions seemed to proliferate.
What next to do that I hadn't already tried?
—or that wasn't so similar as to quench
any hope of satisfaction in my quest.
And, "Quest for exactly what?" I could no longer answer.
Had I ever known? Or was I now just tired of the empty humor.
With no one else in the room to fill the silence