When you are a child
You hold the universe in your hands
Drinking from it, drinking it in
As if it were a warm mug of hot chocolate.

When you are an adolescent
The mug has spilled out all of your liquid universe
All the once warm and comforting contents
Gone.
And suddenly, you are lost
You are unaware of Who you are
What you will be
Where you’re going
Why you’re going there
When you’ll get there
Or How you’ll do it.

When you are an adult
You are filling that empty mug with
The bitter brewed coffee of reality
Every morning
Of every day
Of every week
Of every month
Of every year.
But every day there are different
Flavors of experience added
Some days you add Maturity
Professionalism,  Sanity
Wisdom, Compassion
Deception, Love, Hate
Mediocrity, Hope
Sorrow, Stress
Happiness.

It is never the same.
And that is the beauty and
The vileness of that mug
You try and you try
To fill that mug back up
With whatever we think
The universe might be connected to
Or made of
Or missing.
We all try
But we fail.
When we were children
We were assured that we
Will be great and that we could
Hold the entire universe at our
Fingertips.
They lied.
We can only substitute
What we lost
For the rest
Of our days.