What does it matter, what’s the point?
This quest to find meaning in life?
Some will give it meaning,
But it’s their own wishful interpretation.
It’s only a longing,
Something that rips at the very foundation of all humans.
There is no meaning.
There is only loneliness,
Whether in a group or by myself in a box,
The feelings are the same.
People come and go,
Each one taking what they need,
Or what they think will make them feel better about their own loneliness.
A self-serving cycle.
Each individual is just that….
I can’t be the other individual,
Because I’m not.
I know not what they feel, see or think.
I don’t know why they are the way they are,
Or why they do what they do. They just are. I am too.
I am who I am,
And don’t know why all of my own experiences have led to this present me.
Does anyone really?
Everyone thinks they know,
Or wishes or hopes or tries to convince themselves or others that they do.
I for one have done that.
I can paint a happy, beautiful scene to which I can relay to others
In an attempt to lessen their loneliness.
But is it a real scene,
Or just one I wish to see myself?
I listen to others explain “how it is”, only to find another who says the total opposite,
Both making sense in their own wishful ways.
But either way,
They are individuals that have gathered other individuals
To create an illusion that they are not lonely.
And each and everyone still is unsure.
They still argue the difference between Hope and Faith,
Good and Evil,
Love and Hate.
None of which is ever a black and white ordeal.
I live in the gray, always have,
And so do they.
We are only lonely individuals,
In a sea of lonely individuals.
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