I always knew of the infertility of my existence, but discarded despair with the question of why would such an attribute be required at all? But in the last few days or weeks, there has been an unconscious realization that this isn’t quite the angle to my deduction yet. A realization that has broken my arbitrary yearns for will to exist and propel in time. May be it’s the act of breaking the meaning found unearthing meaning? But to have such a meaning is beyond imaginative, I have always lived for something more. A hollow life seemed too priceless to forgive, or at least I felt so before. Was this a self-imposed mirage to keep with bound to him responsibilities and endless debt to my loved ones? Is death what I truly desired? Why would I choose something I know nothing about? This is why the hopeless commit suicide. They loathe this world to an extent where they sacrifice themselves just to get away from it. What a pitiful endeavor. I know too much to be worried by existence, to hate it. Why the notion of death? May it’s the romanticism of meeting “God” or the excitement of a curious mind. But there is something I would wish to live forever. It would be to see what happens after all. What happens this today at the end. Not for pleasure or for glory, merely for the act of being there when eventually everything ends or the cycle begins again. To see life to the end, the very last breathe when there is nothing and not even silence. This may seem meaningless task, but then why worry about meaning? There also lies a yearn to be what the society never hoped, or even conceived to restrict. Be something that is an absolute imagination for this community of existences. But re-imagination is propelled as an evil that carries a great cost. The question is, would the reward be worth the trouble? Or maybe even before, what would be the reward?