In the limited time we have between our births and our deaths, we live life with everything we’ve got. The writing end when the writing ends… No… Accurately said, it is not written to an end. If you write a story to a certain point, can you say it is fully written? This has been paining me in all those long years as someone who writes. The journeys of humans make for such interesting stories, yet… But where does the journey start and where does it end… Even I do not know an answer to this.

All truth is meaningless. In the end, ‘meaning’ comes from the mind of each individual human. Even when there is a single truth, it can mean different things to different individuals. The truth has no meaning in itself. The reader will be me. I have no love, maybe I’ll end up interpreting some things in a weird way. However, the reader is free to decide how to read things and with which intonation. Everyone has a right to pursue a happy life. The difficult part is to be given that right.