Bittersweet art of being

[therealtrash]

I feel the wind blowing on my face and I remember when I was young, every breeze I felt, the every air I breathe, my mind filled with blurred memories, unsure if they're real or not. And I think, "Is everything real? How can I prove all my memories are real without any physical proof? It's just a feeling that, if I forget, is gone forever." I'm not the same as I was ten years ago, or five years ago, or even a week ago. We're constantly changing; sometimes I hate it, sometimes I find it wonderful, change. The bittersweet art of being. I love having a body, having a mind, having my own feelings that I can only express in my own way, but sometimes I hate being trapped in a limited human body, a limited human mind. But isn't that what makes us, us? If everyone had perfect forms, bodiless, genderless, flawless, timeless, just existing perfectly in the universe; what would be the point? I don't believe in purpose. I believe we create our own purpose, but that purpose isn't immutable, like everything in life. I'm trying to let go of material things, but I also want to spend my money on something that makes me happy, not for the thing itself, but for the feeling, the memories, the experiences I'll create. Even if it were fast, even if it were insignificant compared to the many other experiences I've had that have changed me forever. Sometimes I want to be silly and frivolous. I don't want to be perfect, I don't achieve the perfect form of an angel with sixty hundred eyes, I just want to be me. I just want to learn things, even if it's when an old doll was made. I want to experience being myself, because my life is limited, and I want to enjoy it. That's my current purpose: to try to live, not overthink if everything I'm doing is productive or not, just live, just breathe, just look at a flower, feel the wind, hear a cat purr. But don't forget that i'm alive. Live more calm, but not in the automatic mode. It's very hard know the difference, but at least I'm still trying.