Hollow.

Written by an anonymous friend.

We all have begun to realize that we aren't that important after all. We grew thinking about the fairy tales where the world would resolve around us and slowly we are adapting to the fact that we hold no significance. Nobody is going to write our praises when we die, nobody is going to remember what we said or did. We aren't leaders; we aren't the people we always idolized. We are ordinary human beings.  Ordinary, and hence astoundingly disposable. We now are aware of how easily we can be replaced.

We have begun to realize that butterflies aren't beautiful and rainbow on a sunny day isn't perfection. we are opening up to the possibility that there is a chance, a slight chance that god doesn't like us after all and maybe this existence and us being trapped in our skin is just his way of belittling us and the fact that this world might just be hell.

We are growing up to the fact that our life might have no purpose and there is no bigger picture, we are random assholes little more than a hollow husk coated with flesh and skin, being dictated in every sense of the word.  We aren't going to save the world, we can’t even save ourselves. Maybe the only reason why we like to kill others is because of the rush to the head, because we like it, because our lives would be pretty boring otherwise. Maybe we don't want our issues to be sorted, our problems solved, our hearts mended and our souls healed because if all that happens, what’s left in life? Paths not known of which we are afraid to embark upon? and we are just cowards we don't want to discover the unknown.

When it’s all said and done, maybe we will put a chair outside in the yard and look up in the sky and accept things. Accept that there is no purpose, and life is just a big empty space.. Hollow. unfilled. Life is a punishment.