But... why are we alive?

Maybe it’s not about what we think it is. Maybe it’s not about anything at all. Maybe it’s all about not thinking, Only dreaming, imagining…learning how to carry on. It’s about uncertainty, or I guess, Maybe it could be about uncertainty. Or learning how to be confident in being uncertain, Letting people know that you know who you are, Even though you haven’t the slightest clue. We could pretend that it’s about feeding the monster inside, Or we could hope that that’s only a small part. We know it’s about the madness that engulfs us, And the fears that entwine us, And the people who hurt us, But… Can we believe that it’s about believing? Or wishing for hope? Or knowing that you always have yourself. Maybe it’s about dancing when everyone is looking And smiling for the sake of smiling And crying because you realize that You know you’re getting nowhere and everywhere At the same time, And you don’t know what to do with it. …So you laugh. And then you think it’s about time. The minutes and hours as they tick away. Taking with them your hopes and your family And leaving you with friends who are just people who kind of know you but don’t at all. And as you sit there you remember and you smile. Because he brought you flowers. Every year. And you start to realize that it’s worth it. Even though it’s not and you feel like it’s not and you wonder. What’s it like to be living? And as you wonder it strikes you that We’re all living… But are we alive?