No moment you have lived was ever better off without you. We aren’t accumulations of failures; we are exactly who we are meant to be, pain and all.

We live because no matter how much pain we may feel, we feel so much more. What is joy, happiness, that falling while reading a lover’s last note, that warmth from a friends smile after a night spent on failures, that fleeting sense of control that makes you feel at home and holds you back from everything you’ve ever had or ever will have? That doesn’t mean we have to know pain to understand joy. As the saying goes, the taste of broccoli in no way affects the deliciousness of chocolate. But then again, some people are allergic to chocolate, so maybe there is such a thing as karma in this spinning mess of a galaxy? Utter nonsense! And that’s the real beauty! You are thinking to much, friend! You aren’t feeling enough, yet you’re feeling to much; crying over spilled milk even though you’re lactose intolerant and don’t even know why you had the milk in the first place! You are an enigma, a completely unique snowflake that has no equal in space or time, yet a mirror copy of the million, billion, trillion hearts that have traced this land before you! You are what you were always meant to be, and that has to count for something, right?! You have meaning, and that meaning is not assigned by any man, woman, lover or foe, God or Devil, but because you are just you! You ARE YOU! Nothing like you has breathed this air, felt this rain, cried these tears, caught that fly ball, broke that pinky finger, burnt that dutch apple pie, dirtied that hat that means the world to you, fought with the mother who loves you in a way you can never appreciate, held onto that hand even when it stopped holding back, found a home in a hole that was never that bad to begin with; nothing like you has been or ever will be again. You are a moment. Moments are what make memories. Memories are those things you alter in that wacky head of yours depending on the time of day, weather outside and amount of poison in your blood, both in the literal sense of alcohol and the VERY literal sense of doubt. Those memories build up, fall apart completely, come together like a puzzle and destroy the world as you know it. Memories are the past, but do you see? The past can’t be changed you say? Then how are you able to bend it so easily? If that past, truly set in stone, crumbles and glues together like rice crispies and hot marshmallows, then why do people EVER think that destiny, fate, the future is written out in some kind of marker that cannot be altered? You are magic. You bend time in your head, create worlds just by opening your eyes, breath a universe through your nose, touch the face of infinity with those hands you think are too calloused and small and cut to shreds to ever have another human hold. Breathe kid! Sing like sound isn’t shit, cry like tears are diamonds and like diamonds are nothing but shiny stones to give to pretty girls and boys who need something bright in a moment, to change a memory, to change that fate, to beat up destiny, to light up the magic in their eyes so it can reflect in yours and then you see, finally! Cheer up buttercup! God him(her!)self watches your every move in jealousy! You are life! Even in death, you are life! You ARE YOU! YOU ARE THE MOMENT! YOU ARE THE UNIVERSE! So even if it’s overplayed, cliche, the dumbest fucking thing you’ve ever heard, complete bullshit formed from meaningless words on stupidly white pages in a broken-spine notebook, you are the universe. Free to feel the deepest sadness, the sweetest happiness, the simple pains of simple letdowns and the simple joys of the perfect rainy March day. Breathe the universe.

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