Maybe I'm being naive. But I hate this reality that I wake up to everyday. Where I dread the same route of life that millions and millions of people share. We all crave meaning. In work or family or love or drugs or fame. Some die without finding it. That's what I'm afraid of. Not finding the reason for being alive. We don't even have a chance to live because we're too busy worrying about paying bills and checking Twitter. And I admit. I've been swallowed by this black hole of existance. But I want to be able to wake up and just be at peace with time. Have a cup of tea. Read a few chapters in a book. And I know I can have these things but my mind would still be on other things. I guess I want true freedom to find the meaning. I feel like I'm not meant to be here, like I'm this strange person who just can't be happy with what is. I want to feel! I want to fall asleep on a beach and watch the sun rise on a mountain top. I want to visit beautiful libraries all over the world. Because I understand how this reality is. I know my words will change no one today but they were written and that's meaning to me. My thoughts were heard, that's meaning. Not a lot but some. So now where do I go from here? The writing is over for now, that small dream world evaporated. I'll just go back and wake up tomorrow.