The more and more I grow up, the more the futility strikes me.
While sometimes I am basking in the glory of life, sometimes it all just falls flat.
I don't need much, but a purpose and love. But then again, is that enough?
I have memories of my childhood and memories otherwise. Traveling through the few years, I am who I am. It is so funny that it is history that fills us up with meaning, and then it is history that makes us so empty. I can be no other, nothing better. Nothing worse.
And then sometimes I think we're all lost. We're all wandering aimlessly with the false notion of an elevated existence. Our life is only about an interaction with the fellowmen. Guilty of desiring more, we are doomed collectively.
I know sometimes this feeling grows more intense and I start questioning my existence. It is a matter of minutes to choose to fall on the other side of the wall. But what grips my feet to this ground, is the fear. The immense fear of the unknown. Is that such a good thing after all?
It won't be quite untrue if I said it never struck me that this could all be a dream and our real lives lie beyond this point. It shakes me up completely. It is like that feeling when you look in the mirror and for a second, yes for second on the clock, you can separate your body from your
soul.
So then why is it that we run so hard towards God-knows-what? What makes us any better than the penniless wanderer down in the streets? What are we really? Where are we at? Dead or alive? We don't know.
