I’d say 6/7 days a week I think about this topic.
A bookshelf has a point – to hold books.
A pencil has a point, quite literally and also to write.
But I’m not a bookshelf or a pencil, and for the simple reason that they both have a point to existence, I envy them. Yes, that’s strange, but it is what it is.
I just wish I could find out what, if it exists, my point is. Is it to find love? I doubt it, I’m shy and awkward, so the chance of me finding someone to love is fucking low. Is it to change the political world? Again, I doubt it. I tend to bend under pressure, due to the lack of my own confidence.
Do you see where my problem lies now? The mysterious question that I’ll never be able to answer.
What is YOUR point to life? I’d love to know.