i've got a question but i don't think i can ask it

Because all the questions have changed though the answers always remain the same. When I was in college still, there in the George Street Diner I started it, I wrote a novella: a cross between fantasy and parable, it told the story of my life. I named my character Molly and I gave her so much more than I have ever had. Her mouth filled with silence though her throat choked with a song and her belly had a laughing world inside of it, all of her own, all of life and living was contained between her laughing belly and her silent mouth. But I couldn't find an ending, because it seemed too trite to open her mouth by the kiss of a prince charming, and it seemed too easy to open it by the spell of a witch that knew what little Molly was holding inside. So she collapsed, and the world inside her belly fell to pieces, and she learned the secrets of her bearing, the secrets a person shouldn't ever know. She lived in darkness for a very long time in the forbidden library of an old wise man and from that point I could not move her. So I stopped writing. It could have been beautiful, but I didn't know the answers. And here I am, so many years later, I still don't know the answers. Oh how I know how they move me and what it is that moves them, I know what they smell like and I know where they go, but I don't know how to find them. And as time passes, I wonder that maybe those answers were never really there in the first place. They were all a dream. And dreams, as we know, are so much sweeter than...but when my phone rang tonight and I thought of that time so long ago, I guess I thought maybe, maybe. But then, and now I'll go to sleep, and I'll keep looking in this new other place. And maybe in the morning. Maybe.