And yet I know I'm gonna go and patch myself up well enough to function (again) and continue with my life (again) and probably someday find someone to love (again). So . . . what's the point with asking what's the point? Because there isn't one, really. I think. It's just . . . there's no grand scheme, there's no big meaning. Things happen. And then they keep happening. And that's what life is.
Sometimes I just wish . . . I don't even know. Something.