optimistic existentialism

Written on



maybe life doesn't have an inherent purpose; the world is not some video game with a fixed goal, maybe the purpose of life is merely what YOU perceive it to be. it's scary if you think about how we are here for a fixed period of time, and don't even get an eviction notice before we're rudely kicked out of the world, and that what means years to us might mean moments to other beings.. there'd probably be a time when there'd be NO trace left of us, no matter how smart, powerful or pretty we are.. but what makes life worth living is the fact that every moment you live, you're practically defying death. you're making memories, memories that'd make you wish for a time machine just so you'd go to the past and relive it a million times. maybe life doesn't have to have a purpose, just like you don't NEED to have a list to go shopping. you can just go and figure it out on the way, and just have fun while you're at it.


a/n: one of my good wattpad announcements. enjoy. <33


Photo by Tobias Bjørkli from Pexels

Comments

Post a Comment

Tell me what you think!

This could be your next favourite post!

Sunset

Written on
via GIPHY It is 18:32. The sinking sun diffuses into the sky like orange candy on a tongue. The sun is slow, yet swift—it gracefully descends like a ballerina when you look at it, but plunges down like a dart plane when you look away. It is as if the sun feels your gaze and wants you to marvel at its glory as it puts its nightcap on. But you should know, the sun only takes a stroll around the world to light up some distant skies. When you see the sun swallowed by the horizon, you should know that it is swiftly climbing up the stairs of another sky in a far-off land you have never seen. Another girl will perch at her balcony at 18:32 to watch what you have just watched. And it will go on. via GIPHY I totally did not write purple prose there  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Did the excessive imagery enhance your reading experience, or was it a hindrance? Please tell me so that I can improve!
More

My Class

Written on
Image
  My class, V-E, is a zoo, With no concrete cells, But with ringing bells, And everyone shouting "shoo". Sometimes it's like a living hell, And in unison thirty voices yell, They run and shout like monkeys minus tails, You can't "shoo" them cuz you'll fail. Other times it's just like paradise, Seems like you won the roll of dice, They'll speak so polite and act so nice, You'll forget you've come to a pack of mice. Now that's my class, Sometimes they're good as angels, Sometimes bad as ghosts, Come here, and if you're lucky, I'll be your host. Photo by  Iqwan Alif  from  Pexels
More

❝The Shadows Are Her Spotlight❞

Written on
Image
She dances to the songs Of birds and trees. Not caring where her feet fall, Not caring who watches her, Not caring if she's being mocked. She dances in the shadows As the darkness holds her captive; The shadows are her spotlight. Her footsteps fall  On scattered dust. When the little black birds Will fly back to their homes By broken window ledges and vents, The cool breeze will blow the dust Into nothingness, Where her rhythm will lie forgotten. The dying roots of the trees  And the little cooing fledglings Won't remember her tomorrow. I don't know how she does it But when she dances, She dances like there's no tomorrow, Like she's frozen in her own Happily ever after. Photo by  Anthony Shkraba  from  Pexels
More