Are We Done Yet?

Are we done yet, I ask with weary breath—

Striving for so many firsts, but did they bring true happiness?

No, I’m tired, exhausted by the race.

Perhaps it’s time to lay down, no longer chase.

First in the class,

First behind the wheel,

First to wed,

First to hold a child in my arms,

First to claim a home of my own.

But now, I’m the first to feel the weight—The first to be undone.

Do I want to be the first to fall apart?

Do I want to be the first to leave this earth?

The purpose of these firsts, what do they serve?

Why this fuss, when one by one we must return to dust?

Firsts, always the firsts—But what do they mean when all things come to an end?