What Does It Mean?

Why are we here?

What is our meaning?

Is it to graze each other's backs, thinking: she's my other half; but wait, society tells me I am not a half.

Is it to watch the sunrise and then paint it, with emotion,

pouring our insides into the canvas with splashes of color that are senseless and messy, that no one would be able to decipher unless they have experienced it for themselves, life coming into the world at 6 am.

Is it finding out your mother isn't gonna be there anymore?

Is your purpose to be stronger than most, but at what cost?

What if you achieved what you always wanted, but then you want more?

Will it ever be over?

Will we ever be able to feel that burst of yellow in our insides, that burst of excitement that screams: I did it.

Or will we be too unsure, too anxious to even notice our success at that time?

If you had to paint your life in colors, how would it be?

Would it be a stiff portrait, or would it be indecipherable blotches of black and blue and red and white and pink and then black again,

or will it even have any colors,

because we keep suffering,

and when you wake up from that trance and they ask you "what does it mean?" you say "I don't know, give it your own meaning."

Because that's all we should be doing but instead, instead we waste our seconds searching for the right moment,

the perfect match,

the correct emotions,

and we let it all pass by and then we find ourselves in the corridor, inspecting our painting, and asking: what does it mean?