Existence is Endless Torment
At times, I find myself pondering whether life is the cruelest experiment ever conceived. Each sunrise arrives like a taunt, heralding yet another day filled with the potential for pain, disappointment, and the gradual erosion of hope. We enter this world without consenting, thrust into a reality that demands we sustain ourselves in bodies that are destined to betray us, in minds that can lead us astray, and in hearts that experience fractures so profound that no amount of medicine or comfort can mend them. The relentless cycle of existence seems designed to test our resilience, leaving us to navigate the shadows of our own fragility while we yearn for moments of joy amidst the turmoil.
I watch the years slip away, feeling the weight of fleeting time as friends and strangers alike cling desperately to the promise of "tomorrow"—as if the arrival of a new dawn can erase the burdensome weight of every regret and loss from the past. They cloak our suffering with well-meaning platitudes like "Your story isn't over" or "There's beauty in the struggle," but I can't help but question: what beauty can emerge from the relentless tide of anxiety that crashes over us, or the profound numbness that follows each shattered dream, leaving us adrift in a sea of unfulfilled hopes? And what of the slow, crushing passage of time, with its unyielding grip, as it presses mercilessly upon our weary hearts and minds?
