Image by Євген from Pixabay 

I don't want to start my article with the word "maybe". But, maybe, we are all just dust particles floating in space that has an ounce of gravity. Gravity which was never our won special feature but something that we were granted by the landlords of the Milkyway. I do not think that the Milkyway is a home and there is some lord counting our time as to how long we staying. If so, we are terrible paying guests. We make our homes dirty.

What if the sun is watching over us wondering if his whole sacrifice and struggle of the big bang was all a waste because we are little indecisive organisms which do not let others live and are the cruelest? The moon seems to watch the lovers every day. The ones whose legs crawl each other's and lips slowly find the rest. The ones who have so much of live inside of them, but still chose to sleep on their sides facing each other's backs. I also think of the loveless couples whose monotony has made them all empty but also grown to detest each other.

What are free thoughts when all of us are chained to our own destiny Karl Marx had already said " we have nothing but chains to lose." If religion is true then aren't we all dying and waiting for an eternal white God to transcend upon us? If mothers are the best people in the world, who are they actually living for if we don't appreciate their existence at all? What are dads for if we don't see them as individuals? Why do siblings turn out to be the worst enemies and grow apart to be strangers who were born on the same born only to be tied up with an invisible string of breastmilk?

What is a metaphor if we are so honest in comparing two things, things that are incomparable but yet acceptable to be compared? Why is the rose the lover and thorn its pain? Why is it not a tree because both of them need to nurture them? Both rain and sunshine? Both clouds and snow? 

What is language if we can't tell what we feel and we always fall short of telling what we actually feel? Is it the presence in the absence? Isn't that complicated literary theory? 

What is free when are all just molecules floating around in emptiness? 

What is happiness, if all I wanted was for you to think and now you are just confused?

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