Hello to the days that repeat for thousands of years. The days have never changed their color; rather, they have repeated in life. Always, one day has been and will be just one day.
What should we really do in this world? Why does living have so many consequences? Why am I not like a plant in a corner, needing just a little water and a little light? What price do I pay for being? Sometimes I think about what I really should do.
What will happen if I don’t do anything? Should I do something for life to have meaning? Does the essence of life depend on need? In other words, is being a creator not enough for life?
I am tired of being human, of playing this role. I constantly have to do something, but maybe a snail on a leaf is not worse than me. It is not bound by any rules, and perhaps…
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