life, as we know it.
life, all the things we had ever wished for.
joy, fraudulent or not, joy regardless.
hope, future, people, connections, the physical privilege of being on the same continent as half of the world.
life, as everyone knows it.
i got myself a ticket to life!
but what’s the meaning of it all?
we look back, we see the happiest time we’ve ever had, we see nothing but hope and love in us
and then it died down, almost as quickly as it got there
attempts to reach that hope again, all futility.
but we pushed on anyway. we pushed towards what we think would make us feel better.
but we just wanted to be loved, so desperately.
but what’s the meaning of it all?
love, we say that so much.
we love so many people, in so many different ways. almost as if we wanted to throw shit at the wall and see what sticks.
it’s—
it’s weird.
what’s driving us to love?
what’s driving us to be loved?
what’s the reason? what does it mean to love or to be loved, and what does it mean to hate and to be hated?
words. words describing otherworldly feelings we’ve never been able to grasp.
words. words echoing in the chasms of our mind, always waiting us to take a wrong step and fall.
words. words of sabotage.
words of hurt and misery.
and so.
what’s the meaning of it all?
if not an endless search to find meaning?
is it so bad to want to mean something to just someone, anyone, again?
something that isn’t just a source of distress and fear?
something that… sparks joy?
what’s the meaning of anything?
…
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