Living

When it's called into question and my own thoughts. ALSO, if you see me adding disclaimers on my work, call me out on it. I keep doing that and it's tearing down my confidence.

I'm told I comprehend a lot of things

I don't know if it's true

But there's one concept that continues to tug at my attention

Like an insatiable child, with a perpetual hold on the bottom of your skirt

Life, every fiber and loose thread and plothole in the stitching

Every single question about it 
In a never-ending questioning, a crisis

Defining how full a life is

Why we exist in the first place 

Only to be stolen away to another million hypothetical unknowns

And if we on Earth are not alone

Then why are we here

In this one place, specifically

When if the universe is so big we could be anywhere else

How love ties into things like this, like it isn't confusing enough,

How we're all nothing but synapses and 118 substances and electricity

Then why do we have feelings so strong 

What decides our sentience when we share properties with every thing

Living and dead

In this entire observable universe

So how do we even know what love is

And why is it so powerful when its reality is so easy to question

How do we form thoughts like

I've got a dentist's appointment or I cannot put into words how deeply I am in love

When we, just a million different arrangements of 118 substances

Everything and everyone in this entire universe

Are the ones who assign meaning to words

How are we somehow more capable than rocks, and trees, and hills,

Is it circumstance? Coincidence?
A sort of God I still cannot find will to believe in?

Because even if there was a God,

Who decides they're the most sentient of all?
Why did religion even become a part of our lives?

Gods, emotions, languages, love

Things that cannot be summarized or seemingly even created by 

A mixture of 118 substances

That are only on the Earth for an average of 75 years

To do what?
To find the answers?
To locate this maybe-God and question them as we question ourselves?
To discover what true love in its truest definition is,

If not experience it?
To discover how we create feelings so raw and poetic from pure facts and science?

That seems like a lot to do in 75 years.

Why don't we live forever?
So are we really meant to question the ways of the universe?
If not

Then what am I doing here?
Sitting, typing away at the questions I'm not supposed to ask

Essentially wasting time

An insignificant molecule, not even, in this universal thing,

Waiting to slip away by holding onto everything and taking it into question

But at the end of things, time will end, I will end among other things

But why?

Author's Note

My head hurts. The vastness of the universe unnerves me. Please comment or critique this non-proofread piece!

Reviews

[Spilt]

this is beyond relatable and its such a reflective piece that I too experience way too much.
If you ever want to talk about it, I'm always here