How can you be abandoned when there is no one to abandon you? How can you pray to whatever you pray to when there is no one who would listen? Are we indeed alone? Are we the only conscious creatures in the whole Universe? And if we were, wouldn’t that be depressing, tragic, unfortunate? What happens after we die? Do we go to heaven? Or to hell? Why are we always so sad and dissatisfied? Why do we always want more and more, why is our soul a bottomless abyss? Where are we heading to? Is there a final destination of our journey?


I wish I knew the answers to these many questions, but if I knew them I wouldn’t most probably be alive.  Because when we are alive, we know nothing. It’s just our primal, animal instincts and desires. We are followers, we are slaves, we are tiny, miserable ants in the hands of a vicious kid called life. Life is a game, and you always lose even when you win. You hope that you are different and that all that you do matters, but it matters not. You will disappear and will be forgotten. None of the things you have done will be remembered. Your life will be just another story written on an old and rotting page of a book lying next to empty bottles of vodka and scattered trash. No one will pick up the book. No one will read your story. No one will care. Because life goes on, and we can do little about it. That’s your hope.


Hope for little. That’s the best you can do before you become black and fading letters on a piece of paper, which time will swallow and your story will be gone forever.


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