Where do I go? What do I do?

Questions scratched on a wall before the abyss.

Once my Springs were full of scented flowers and warm gentle breezes; they flowed like honey for me.

Daily, from golden cups, I copiously drank their intoxicating mixture of nectar and life’s festive dream.

I had made it.

Atop my perch upon the mountain I felt safe.

Then the winds thundered through and toppled the oak tree.

What now? Why ...