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Human.

What makes us human?

Is it the imperfections?
Is it all the energy we choose to spend on sinning?
Is it the constant motive of trying to find answers to everything?

Or is it hope?
Could it also be the constant reflection on that one question, "Why. Are. We. Here?"

Why are we even here?

I ask myself that question too often that it has consumed me from the inside out, it has become a thing of its own, a mass, so heavy I couldn't bring myself out of my bed at times. So HEAVY, that I did not know how to be human.

What are we doing here?
It.......It feels like we're supposed to be doing something,

What are we supposed to do?

I feel like we're supposed to complete a mission but everyone seems to have aborted on it. More and more have given up on hope, on faith, on strength.

The energy of this doubt, this big ball of negativity, it's growing, and it's spreading all across. It's a matter of time until it spreads throughout the globe and soon we will be left to believe, we're all on our own. but we're not, but we are, but we're not, but we are, but. we're. not.

This can't possibly be it.
If life is a story, this is not how it's supposed to end. This is not how I want it to end.

Is this what makes us human?