May Camille

I once wrote to someone that life is always strange.

The moment you feel like everything is seamless, life throws you lemons.

The day when you agree that when it rain, it does pour but a rainbow suddenly appears.

Isn’t it strange?

People romanticizing everything to feel like things do matter so we can feel like existing means something rather than a soulless body just trying to get its week done.

Isn’t it true?

It’s another boring Tuesday for someone.

A special weekend for some Ben out there.

A grieving month of a friend.

Life just tick and tock.

My Literature professor once said that not all story need to have a lesson but what is the purpose of writing it anyway?

It’s like wasting your hours looking at a piece of an abstract art. You convince yourself there must be something like an artistic value because this couldn’t be worth of millions just to be drawn by an insomniac toddler. That would be a laughing stock.

Then you go home, put your keys at the side table and realized, “What’s the point of that shit anyway?”

They say in order to live you need to have a purpose, but is it just what people ask themselves so they could matter?

That you and I exist. That you matter.

We love, we hurt, we argue, we settle because if not, everything is senseless.

People search for the profound meaning of life, but at what cost?

The quest of existentialism must be tough.

It’s a hard business, y’all especially when you know deep inside, it’s just a continuous cycle of ups and downs and it never ends.

Oh, it does stop when your clock stops ticking.

(tick tock)

The moment you’re reading this, a life has been taken away.

At this very second, a lucky sperm and an egg meet.

Isn’t it strange? An oxymoron.

Life is.