Life

The one whose terribly clever and yet terribly broken, concluded on a long enough timescale in this Universe that’s so wide and, apparently indifferent, oneself have no ultimate significance, and the point has dropped out everything for them, between denial, and despair.

Because the world is just as fantastical as it is horrific and it’s just as arbitrary to lose hope as it is to find it, so that oneself with its insignificance should find a way to make peace with it.

To have stubbed one’s toe, To have heard a new word and look it up, To have watch you blowing your nose or picking your teeth or something equally disgusting.

Quietly, as quiet as it can possibly, thought to oneself:

Ah fuck, I’ve fallen in love with you, haven’t I

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What a weird honor, courtesy of being humans, birth— death, and silly bit in between. If none of it has any ultimate significance, and if, on a cosmic scale, none of it matters, does that really fucking matter?

We won’t last forever, and while we’re here, what a silly decision it would be to waste our day out in the cosmos.

That brief period of time when matter woke up on a World as interesting as this one, with hair as excellence as yours, with all the other whose being the main character on their own versions of this one world, who we can hang out with, and be fond of, and talk shit to, and keep the worries, at rest.

And if all that just not enough, just in case, we can always sat together, sad together, and crying out loud, together.

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Few days ago, the Universe™ sending me this really wonderful human being, that I really loved talking to, hours and hours, the smile, the laugh, the love,— and pureness of [_] heart is poured on each of every words that come out of [_] mouth.

Regardless of what we’ve been through, when we’ve resume our duty— or should I say, life, we concur, that when we together, we leave that shit behind.

I think, and feels, that if only, the Universe is watching us, it would smile at us, or perhaps, laugh. A little insignificance being, that so overwhelmed by their own thoughts, expectations, and hope, and sadness, and anxiety, and society, and every fucking little things their encounter and bothers.

But that’s okay, that’s what defines, and what divide, between life and death, isn’t it?

So, in the meantime, let’s take a moment, to rest, to breath, to reflect, to think things through, and looking back a bit, so that we don’t forget, and hopes, that we can, in fact, with the insignificance, although it’s going to be violence.

So that when we resume, the heart will be slightly lighter, easier, and less destructive, and also has a plenty of rooms for, possibly, or highly likely future problems, or should I say, life.