Swirling thoughts like a storm-ridden sky. Other have grandiose ten-year plans, but not her. In ten years she would still be finding herself. What was so wrong with that? Shouldn’t we, as humans, allow ourselves to repeatedly evolve?
Or are we supposed to set a roadmap to our death? Nowadays, that appears to be done for us when we first stick our little heads out into the world. Yet the life-cobblestones are uneven and wobbly for a girl in high heels. She will erratically crawl, stand-upright, hop to different melodies as she evolves to her death.