Life.

What is it all for? Is it supposed to mean something? If so, why is the answer so elusive, so hard to define? In the past, I might have said that life was about love, a pursuit of happiness. I thought I knew what love was on two occasions but at this point in my life I have abandoned that overly romantic notion.

These days I believe that life is something based within the ego. It is something selfish. It is a desire for contentment and comfort. But it seems that no matter what I think I want or what I think I may want to do in this life the thoughts ALWAYS diminish and then melt away back into the nether of nothingness.

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