A little poem about growing up

I feel like I've been running. Running this whole time. But whenever I turn around, there's nothing. What was I running for? Was there a goal? Was there a place I should have arrived? Or maybe I was just supposed to run away from everything and everyone? Were am I? Does it really matter? Should I keep running, or should I stay here? Where's everyone? Where's everything? Is anyone there or here? There's probably nothing. What if... Everyone was running faster than I was? But if that's the case, why everyone used to say I was fast when I was a kid? Did I became slower? Or everything became faster? I don't know...