Meaning
Fingers are weak, my hands are fatigued, and soul drained. Grasping for meaning, perhaps the only real reason we write is to give meaning to meaningless things. We tell ourselfs that it is only the meaningful which inspires us to pick up the pen or open up the keyboard. What is there to distinguish the difference? Pehaps we decide. Maybe, just maybe, we ourselfs decide rather or not to give our lifes meaning.
Maybe we should all do what matters to us, let us abandon the shackles of societies expectations, and laugh, converse, experience, love, and try to bring energy into everything we do. Let us have the strength and resolve to only spend it on those people and things that are worth it and nothing else. Let us be brave enough to say no to the things absent of meaning.