I have always questioned life, my existence, and why I'm here.

Perhaps because I never knew my biological father, that I was a 60s baby, that my mother's decision to keep me was not her first thought. That despite her anguish, I held on.

Or perhaps because in one split second, one fleeting conversation with a complete stranger, my mother's resolve... became clear.

The tightrope she teetered. The seesaw of my being. The what ifs, of existence.

Questions that flicker, spark my attention. Like specks of light bouncing across bubbling waters.

Questions, I may never answer.

Questions that, perhaps, are not mine to ask.