When you think about it... The weirdest thing about life is life itself. When you finally feel like you've sustained and successfully survived a major blow, when you assume-presumptions always have disastrous results-that you've finally obtained the right to be accustomed with the reins of your very own destiny, you feel victorious, robust, you feel like you can endure much more, you take your triumphs as
your personal miracle. You strain for self-actualization, And for a split of a second, you actually delude yourself into a falsehood which encourages you to believe that you've achieved it, for real. And then, after all the hopes, after being so near it, after having it all but within your reach, you're forced to face the harsh realities life provides you so ruthlessly with; the same life that, at a point, cherished every dream you ever dreamt, every hope you ever hoped, every desire you ever desired. Every things gone, you're plunged into a terrifying depth of everlasting darkness. It slipped right through the tiny gaps between your grasping fingers. You feel broken, you feel empty. You can't seem to fathom how to go on, why to go on, and what to go on after. Every things lost. Every light diminished, every boat immersed What, now, is the point?