Who cares?

I guess we all get to a point when we question ourselves. About who we are. What we want. Where we are going. I believe that we miss the point when we wonder. We waste so much time asking questions that we know, have no answers, instead of living. The past and the future don't exist, they are mere conceptions of the human mind. Future is anticipation and past is memory. Life as we know it, is the present. However, all that matters to us, is what happened or is about to happen. So, finally, I ask myself, what is the important thing about being alive? Is it the moments when we stop to think and reflect or is it when we put hands on and do the things we are always thinking about? I don't understand. I wish I did. But I don't. I imagine that this is exactly what is expected from me. I will never understand. Neither will you. Or anyone else. The problem is that we cannot stop ourselves from trying to search for this so called answer that will never come. The greatest geniuses in the world have been telling us this for thousands of years but we seem to be afraid of accepting the fact that maybe, just maybe, there is no greater truth. The truth, the absolute truth, is a myth that keeps us going on. Because, for some reason, we think that if there is nothing to look up to, there is no point. Maybe, there is no point at all. Maybe the point is to just keep going. Just hanging on. Surviving. Making decisions along the way, wrong or right, who knows. Who cares? Life is a path, a journey, it's not the arrival. Just keep going, keep on running, keep on breathing. And along the way, do the things that make you feel whole. Do the things that make you sleep at night. Be the person that arises in your mind at each second. Take a leap, take a step back, do whatever makes sense to you. In the end, who is going to judge you? Not I. Not anyone. Try to take advantage of the moments that make you, you. The rest, what is the rest? I am here, right now, writing, and at the same time there is someone, doing something across the globe. To me, that person does not exist. I exist. Is that being selfish? I am my own person. For better or for worse, I have myself to blame. I am glad for at least that. Who knows what will be of me, tomorrow, next year or in twenty years time. Who knows? I am going to be where the choices I made led me to, wherever that is. People come and go, experiences come and go, but we stay. Are we alive? Are we just living in an awkward limbo? I don't know.

But who does? Who cares?