All we do is while away the hours ‘twixt the cradle and the grave.
Searching for meaning, we throw our heads back and cry forth to the heavens.
Screaming to be seen.
To be understood.
“I’m special!” We scream, as though to convince ourselves.
“I’ve something to offer! Something meaningful, and real!”
The impassive universe looks down on us, uncaring.
To it, we are but specks of dust upon infinity, gone in the blink of an eye.
Eventually we realize this, grow to understand it, accept it, and move forward, seeking more personal satisfactions.
This is what growing up is.