So what is this...existence we call life? It will ultimately end in death. This is inevitable. Do we make the most of what we can? Do we love only to be hurt? Do we breath only to suffocate in the end? Or perhaps, we wall our hearts within ourselves when abused too much regardless of whether it was injured by others or by oneself. Is it this factor that makes life...life? Begin this world with one love only to leave it with a different kind? Something to break your heart, then turn around and heal it. Or perhaps to leave it broken in shards that can never be repaired.
Life...so much pain, but it still seems worth having.
