for there are so many things*

i am alive.

probably, i  regret it.

because my life – just like the absence thereof – has no meaning.

thus, i live because it makes no difference.

and do not even try to tell me otherwise. i will blow up. or break down, into pieces you will not want to see.

my life is meaningless. because whatever i care for, i cannot do.

and i am not god, not even a minor deity or someone supernatural.

this is me, in the light of unsolvable problems of this moment. tomorrow, or the day after, it might be different.

and i broke my favourite memory mug right now. it is there, on the floor, and a whole stratum of me broken with it.

sorry to be this non-positive.


*a quote from this

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