There is a chair.
It is ugly. It is metal and black. With chipped paint. With harsh angles. With broken parts and with spindly legs.
And I, there, next to it.
Not really any less ugly but at least with less desire to be.
What a strange idea.
In the vast cosmos of planets and people that there should be such a thing as desire
That there should be such a thing as existence.
And I with my limited knowledge of such grand things as existence cannot help but believe one thing: That because the universe exists, it could not have not existed.
I know my life is not a thing I should take for granted.
But there is no other way to live.