Bearable. Better.

Life isn't easy, because I'm not perfect, and life seems best suited for perfection. But it's bearable because you aren't either. I don't know of many people who want to see imperfection, especially mine. Not even me. But I know my imperfection, so I don't get to choose. Maybe it's for the better.

Maybe life was meant for us. is meant. But what now? How am I supposed to live know that I did something, or missed something, that would have better suited me to this life? I love life. Because it points to more life, while I am aiming at death...unless I try something different. And point somewhere different. To life. No, no middle ground: that's only death, disguised. To life.