sometimes i wonder if i'm real, and it branches off to another thought of why am i real. like, we're told that we have a purpose in life, but what if we don't have a purpose. what if some are just born to die or just another being filling the space.
why are humans like this, they're very complicated.
now time for some existential crisis 'cause my existence freaks me out
|May 21th|
> 4:20am < //blaze it//
[listening to: nothing]
