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."