As I walk,I see people everywhere.
As they talk,I wonder ,if they are happy?
Are their lives meaningful?
Do they have a reason?
Because deep down, I know,
I lack them.
Then I realized It's not
about meaning and reason .
It's about the moment.
This moment holding this pen ,
The blue traces in the white paper
is a proof,
that I am alive.
That this moment has at least formed meaningful sentences.
