I feel the weight of my words crumble more with every day that passes by, like Autumn leaves beneath my feet. And I wonder if they ever meant anything, or if they ever will again. Someone once told me that life is merely a series of moments, like blury foreign films watched in a ***** haze. Our lives are but a silver platter of stories that can hardly be proven, only eaten by those who listen. There will never be certainty that "then" ever really happened, that words were ever said, or even felt. We are insignificant figures of organic matter and restless molecules that spit out words, to form phrases, to form moments, that never truly occur. And again, I wonder if I ever meant anything, or if I ever will again.