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Rated: E · Chapter · Death · #1503802
Begining to analyze the purpose of life.
I am compelled to think that there is nothing beyond this life, nothing I have experienced or witnessed proves to me otherwise. Though there are times I find myself wishing I could believe in something after; something that would make this life seem worth living a little longer. What is the purpose of being here? We waste our childhood learning so that we can have a better future, go to colleges we cannot afford, then miserably live out our lives paying back the money we owe for going to that college along with other bills that in the end are not worth it. Once it is all over, once we are buried six feet under or incinerated to fragments of ourselves, what is there for us. A life of exhaustion and anxiety, one of pointless worry. For most of us, the only thing keeping us alive is that inescapable will to live.
Only those who are luck can escape it. I wish I was one.
Maybe someday I will be, with my beliefs, I have nothing to fear of an after life in hell, only that I might miss out on something good that might have happened when I was alive.
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