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