We know that we're breathing.
We know that we're here.
We know that we make our own person- that we make our own choices and decide what we want to do, or what we want to be. Who we want to be. How we want to live through our lives.
We know space exists.
Endless nothingness, with very little space filled, of all of it.
Where did it all come from?
It's all so mesmerizing, but scary.
There's nothing much I can do, in that sense.
There's nothing anyone can do.
We know death exists.
Although death is a riddle humans will never solve.
Humans are afraid of death. I'm afraid of death.
Why are we so afraid of death?
Is it the idea of existing into nothing, but just deep nothingness?
The state of inexistence?
Do we fear we've just been told lies our whole lives, and fear we don't actually have a soul to live forever with, after our physical bodies decease?
Are we afraid our entire lives will just level down to nothing, and return to the state of inexistence we had before we were born?
Existence is a riddle humans will never solve. Yet we try so hard, to find that truth, to live.
But what's the point? Why are we here? Why are we so scared?
Even I'm scared.
Why?
What is emotion?
What's the point of anything, if everything will merely just die with time?
What is time?
Time doesn't even exist.
Nothing exists.
I don't exist.
And yet I do. Why am I here? What is the meaning to anything, if everything dies?
Why have humans made everything so complicated?
Like math. Math doesn't exist, although humans claim that it exists all around.
Is it to give them a sense of control, to block our their confusion- with an illusion to make up of what everything is?
What's the point in all this knowledge, that doesn't contribute to our lives at all?
Why do humans try so hard?
Is this a paradox? Are we merely a paradox?
So many empty hours. Hours. Another illusion to try and make sense of things.
What is the point in knowing- what is the point in knowledge?
And yet, all these questions level down to nothing, because there is no point.
There is no meaning to life, so we just try to make up our own meanings.
All for what?
What am I? What's the point?
Why am I so scared of everything, always in doubt?
Why do I live in constant fear?
Why are humans so scared of the unknown?
What's the point, in anything?
..
I guess I continue to ask questions anyways.
Oh well.
YOU ARE READING
Brain Ink
Fantasy'My imagination is only an open door in my dreams... It's an endless foreshadow, but I'm always eager for what my resting state of mind brings me.' Hope you enjoy :) This will be a full book- rather than a short story this time. Be patient with me- ...
