Everyone always asks, "What is the meaning of life?" but they never really want to hear the answer - or they didn't think to inquire in the first place. We have our hands full of ghosts, our minds full of repetition, and our souls so weighed down with (hate) fear – when do we have time to figure it all out? Stop running. Stop hiding. Start searching within that vast cataclysmic tomb throbbing within your chest. Claw your way to the surface for a breath of fresh air and come back from the dead. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. Unearth your doughty treasure and let your face sink into soft folds; your hair unsheathes thine own melanin, and with one last raspy breath say unto the world “The meaning of life is…” and continue to let the mystery unfurl.