theres a passion in existence that mere words cannot express: shaped by rhythm, rhyme, meter and cadence.
this is objectively dictated by heartbeat, pulse, senses and even breath.
life speaks tragedy and eloquence in the language of all experience.
words being the tools that should wield to craft a mural of abstract, and an assemblance of felt realities
taking in each account to form something beautiful.
this is consequently the key to understanding your purpose on this world.
you were not placed here for pure entertainment of others,
but, maybe,
as life paints out a mural for them,
you are just a  drop of color in the existing abstract of their existence.
but as i see your mural being completed
i realize i have purely limited the motion of starting over again after coloring outside the lines.
as i finish your mural your purpose will become clearer.
and as the mural finishes,
so do you.
not to be morbid
death isn't colorful,
but it can be just as beautiful.