To take a complex and intricate ideas and to turn them into an art- a song, a painting, a poem- it's inexplicably pleasing.
An avenue to feel alive.
Isn't that what we're all after?
Because no one can decide on the purpose of life.
Because we all have to have the same purpose, for some reason.
We're all left grasping for avenues to feel alive.
Go to school, get a job, get a spouse, have kids, find hobbies, work some more, die.
We search around inside the crevices for little sparks to kindle our insides.
But what if we must create our own purpose?
Give the world a reason to keep us around, before killing us off for proving ourselves contribution less.
All of the best questions start with "what if".
"What if" is the best way to jump down another rabbit hole of conversation, thoughts, concepts, ideas, synonyms.
It's a phrase that sparks the kindling inside me, and reminds me that I can create and find my own purpose in life, because the idea that we all have the same one is more preposterous than dogs wearing pants.
Now I've gone dull.
Where is the madness in my writing?
The horrific ideas that make some people look at me wide eyed questioning my health,
or the sentences that make people laugh at me for being cringy? Actually... I probably have a few in here already.
Where is the quality in my words?
They're all stringed together with a million invisible lines, and half the time I feel like a madwoman because I believe I'm the only one who can piece it all together.
Where is my madness?
Is it on full display, or lost inside my own mind.