i use to think that the world was my oyster
until I remembered that i am as important
as i am useless.
the sun doesn't color the sky for my pleasure
and the air sure as hell doesn't arrive for my survival.
the universe still gives me reasons to be alive
but it doesn't give me the reasons why i should live.
theories upon theories
suggesting that one isn't cursed
to anything immortal
while another suggest that
the endless stretch of the universe
was made for absolutely nothing.
it is human to seek for meaning
and it is human to accept the impossibility of finding any.
but the glass will always be full of something
and maybe in a year or so, i'll be sure of this.
for now, i'll let the air speak
"it will be fine."