my life is a seemingly endless

road trip.

one that seems to always need

to take the most difficult

and long route to reach

its destination.

but what even is that destination?

death?

no, it couldn’t be.

there has to be more of a

meaning to my life

than barely surviving.

but i suppose that if death

is my final destination,

maybe i should be grateful

that my roads are twisted

and go through dark rainy forests.

because least then

i can enjoy the ride.

kind of.