I am existing in dunkin donuts love doeds exist and god as well does exist i can feel emotings existing and they as well fleet and butterfiesl or a stomach ache will my fiery sould is existing and every morning i allow the flery to be fiery and be wild fire and speard to all that is whithin my existance.
Sometimes I forget that you don’t exist solely for me. I forget that you weren’t made up of everything I could ever want in another human being. I forget that your heart doesn’t beat in time with mine like they’re twins. I forget you don’t love me.
Sometimes, I think about what it would be like to leave. Without saying goodbye. I think about how the people around me would react, to me leaving them. Packing my bags, boarding a plane. Effectively shutting everybody out. Would they be worried, or upset? Would they blink twice? Sometimes I don’t even think they’d mind too much if I never met them.. Sometimes I think it’d be better if I hadn’t. Sometimes is all it ever ends up being. But someday I will find out.
A familiar melody played itself out from tinny, under powered, unseen speakers in the waiting room of my soul. I’ve sat here many times, completely absent of any nervousness, apprehension, or fear. The thing is, I hate sitting here. It seems like every time I get in to see myself, I’m quickly ushered out of the office and handed a bill, and boy do they pile up. Just as soon as I think I’ve figured it all out, I’m sitting there in those overly comfortable leather chairs, I stand from behind the overly large desk, shaking my hand and saying that I will see me soon, very soon! Then I’m seen to the overly mahogany door, and it’s not slammed, but imperatively closed as if it had an urgent appointment with carpenter. Another decade goes by and I’m back again, waiting, with as much patience as a stalking cat, waiting to see if I’ll finally transcend this existence, hoping, and waiting.
Your existence is a bother to me. But it’s also a gift for me. I don’t know if I should be distraught or ecstatic about the fact that you exist. Honestly, though, there are times when I think it would be easier if you never existed in my life. But then I also wouldn’t be who I am now without you.
existence is futile, existence is joy, existence is living, exitsence is everything. existence can’t be reduced to a single word and the word existence doesn’t do justice to the many ways of expressing it!
Our existence is all about the here and now. Not about what should have been or what might be it’s about now. That’s all we have and all we’re rely incontrol of so let’s make sure we make every second of our existence count.
Helen Dugdale
An exsister is a bad thing to be. Throw your arms in the air and get over it all. Live.
em
I suppose that’s just what this is. The fact that I’m 17 and wasn’t always and won’t always. Or that I live and buy into a capitalist system. Or any other number of things. And infinite number of things. And different for everyone too. But what I have right here? I don’t know how to describe this other than y existence.
Its weird. Sometimes you’re sure you exist, but other times you’re not so sure. Maybe we don’t. Maybe we’re like Sims. Maybe we’re just someone else’s toys in a different universe. I’ve given this a lot of thought. Since I was a kid.
I think, I thought. Yes I think it was me? If I thought it were then it must have been but then there really is no proof you see? I think, I am. Aren’t I?
smattc
I’ve lived in this place for so long. This place where you merely exist and then you exist no longer. There is no living and there is no loving. Words are all that I have and even now they are seeming hollow.
Bob Sandy was born in Austin, Texas. Bob never was sure how his existence came about. He wondered if God knew who he was. If only Bob Sandy knew… God had memorized his existence since before the world began.
Mom
Let’s rant. Let’s punch. Let’s kiss. Let’s drink. Be upwardly mobile. Point with full-bellied laugh at the tripped. Feed the hunger. Cry in the shower. Fall in hate. Leap in love. Kiss some more. Die happy. Live forever.
Woke to a silence. The silence of the chair in the corner. The screaming of the blankets, strewn across lifetimes. I feel my soul strewn across you. Wrapped in blue. Weathered in for eternity.
he’s in constant question of it. why? what purpose? is there one? the philosopher is so busy contemplating he forgets to exist.
Lauren
the existence of the self is a rather funny thing, to be honest. who is to say that we do exist? who can really know that we aren’t just some fragment of the subconscious, perhaps someone else’s subconscious, just drifting in a large expanse of nonexistence? for now, though, we put those doubts are rest. we exist, we’ll assume, and for the moment, that’s all we do. sometimes you have to live simply. breathe, relax, lean back, and just exist.
My existence means something. I am here for a reason. Whether or not that reason has come to play or not already, I don’t know. I don’t think about. I just keep living everyday like that reason is still coming. I don’t need to keep wondering about why I am here, I just need to worry about what I’m going to do while I’m here.
I exist. Like everyone else.
But only a great number of us are noticed.
Because everyone, even you, judge. Walking through the halls of school, judging as we pass. Only the people who give us something to notice, will exist in our mind. And that’s why people care for looks; they want to exist in people’s minds. Everyone wants them to notice their existence. Even me, even if I to act as if I want to be invisible.
Its strange.
People who’s existence is noticed by a great number, do not want to be existent in the way they are.
Those who’s existence wasn’t noticed, could not nothing more.
-And then again, people take their existence for granted. They abuse it. We all do.-
What is the purpose of my existence?
That was the question she had asked countless times.
Why?
Then she knew.
To be a servant.
Selflessness.
Her life was not her own.
See, he died for her.
She was bought with a price.
She is the slave of christ. And happy to be one!
What if, nobody truly existed?
Paper and ink.
But none of us know it.
We don’t control our thoughts.
Some things show it.
That sense of dejavu,
may be something more.
What could it be?
Existence no more.
a choice by some, followed by all. To exist is not only be present physically, but to be a whole in everything that you are, to not exist is to be not there.
Nick
The teenage girl just layed on her bed staring up at her white ceiling. She felt salty tears roll down her cheeks as she quietly whispered to herself “why do I even exist?” Her throat starting closing up and she began to sob harder.
Linda
something that i am doing right now: existing. everything that is and ever will be exists. if it is not, then it is not.
deidre mirkin
Existence is a funny thing. It’s all that we know, and yet we cannot know it for certain. What if everything we have known is all a lie? Nothing but a mere illusion.
existence is life and if something or someone is real
silvano
life
humans
living things
living
silvano
I exist; like everyone. But only few of us are really noticed. And everyone wants to be noticed, in a different way that they are. Which is what is weird about it. The people who’s existence is known don’t really want it in the way they do. And those who existence is barely known, would want nothing more. But I. I don’t know where I stand.
Existence is – my senses sent forth to snow, sand, sun, sunshine warmth on my skin. Breath on cold air, freezing into fog that disipates into the landscape of a white-grey morning tinted with apricot from the suns rays. My existence is to note and cherish this moment and all the thousands of moments that came before and are still to come. This is my purpose for being. To be…in the earth, on the earth and feel it all.
Jeni
Existence. Purely existing the way we are. most people take for granted their own existence the fact they are indeed living breathing and feeling beings. Capable of changing the world.
She couldn’t help but wonder what it was that attracted her to him and him to her. They were two different people and from two different worlds, it didn’t make sense. She just needed to understand what kind of existence she held in his life. Was she important to him? Was she a huge part of his life as he was hers?
I ponder existance.
There are some says where I feel so… real, charged, alive.
On these days I exist and it is incredible.
There are other days where I feel like never moving from the spot that I awake in.
On these days I merely exist.
On these days I hate existing.
Unfortunatley, the days where I just exist are getting more frequent.
I ponder existance.
There are some says where I feel so… real, charged, alive.
On these days I exist and it is incredible.
There are other days where I feel like never moving from the spot that I awake in.
On these days I merely exist.
On these days I hate existing.
Unfortunatley, the days where I just exist are getting more frequent.
I am existing in dunkin donuts love doeds exist and god as well does exist i can feel emotings existing and they as well fleet and butterfiesl or a stomach ache will my fiery sould is existing and every morning i allow the flery to be fiery and be wild fire and speard to all that is whithin my existance.
Exsistence. What a vast subject. Each person with their own existence living all together in one world. Strange thoughts.
Sometimes I forget that you don’t exist solely for me. I forget that you weren’t made up of everything I could ever want in another human being. I forget that your heart doesn’t beat in time with mine like they’re twins. I forget you don’t love me.
Sometimes, I think about what it would be like to leave. Without saying goodbye. I think about how the people around me would react, to me leaving them. Packing my bags, boarding a plane. Effectively shutting everybody out. Would they be worried, or upset? Would they blink twice? Sometimes I don’t even think they’d mind too much if I never met them.. Sometimes I think it’d be better if I hadn’t. Sometimes is all it ever ends up being. But someday I will find out.
You stopped acknowledging my existence. I felt like a no body. I felt worthless. Then I stopped caring what you thought. I love who I am.
A familiar melody played itself out from tinny, under powered, unseen speakers in the waiting room of my soul. I’ve sat here many times, completely absent of any nervousness, apprehension, or fear. The thing is, I hate sitting here. It seems like every time I get in to see myself, I’m quickly ushered out of the office and handed a bill, and boy do they pile up. Just as soon as I think I’ve figured it all out, I’m sitting there in those overly comfortable leather chairs, I stand from behind the overly large desk, shaking my hand and saying that I will see me soon, very soon! Then I’m seen to the overly mahogany door, and it’s not slammed, but imperatively closed as if it had an urgent appointment with carpenter. Another decade goes by and I’m back again, waiting, with as much patience as a stalking cat, waiting to see if I’ll finally transcend this existence, hoping, and waiting.
Your existence is a bother to me. But it’s also a gift for me. I don’t know if I should be distraught or ecstatic about the fact that you exist. Honestly, though, there are times when I think it would be easier if you never existed in my life. But then I also wouldn’t be who I am now without you.
existence is futile, existence is joy, existence is living, exitsence is everything. existence can’t be reduced to a single word and the word existence doesn’t do justice to the many ways of expressing it!
Our existence is all about the here and now. Not about what should have been or what might be it’s about now. That’s all we have and all we’re rely incontrol of so let’s make sure we make every second of our existence count.
An exsister is a bad thing to be. Throw your arms in the air and get over it all. Live.
I suppose that’s just what this is. The fact that I’m 17 and wasn’t always and won’t always. Or that I live and buy into a capitalist system. Or any other number of things. And infinite number of things. And different for everyone too. But what I have right here? I don’t know how to describe this other than y existence.
Its weird. Sometimes you’re sure you exist, but other times you’re not so sure. Maybe we don’t. Maybe we’re like Sims. Maybe we’re just someone else’s toys in a different universe. I’ve given this a lot of thought. Since I was a kid.
I think, I thought. Yes I think it was me? If I thought it were then it must have been but then there really is no proof you see? I think, I am. Aren’t I?
I’ve lived in this place for so long. This place where you merely exist and then you exist no longer. There is no living and there is no loving. Words are all that I have and even now they are seeming hollow.
bobreujrtwauriawry47578u2105iwor9wguiiO039I4WLEOWTROKLFR;Qqdkglfd;slllhl;;;kfddsloylfplf;kylf;drldfldpy;lexf;rpyplplykhl;rrr
bob sandy exists .
Bob Sandy was born in Austin, Texas. Bob never was sure how his existence came about. He wondered if God knew who he was. If only Bob Sandy knew… God had memorized his existence since before the world began.
Let’s rant. Let’s punch. Let’s kiss. Let’s drink. Be upwardly mobile. Point with full-bellied laugh at the tripped. Feed the hunger. Cry in the shower. Fall in hate. Leap in love. Kiss some more. Die happy. Live forever.
Woke to a silence. The silence of the chair in the corner. The screaming of the blankets, strewn across lifetimes. I feel my soul strewn across you. Wrapped in blue. Weathered in for eternity.
he’s in constant question of it. why? what purpose? is there one? the philosopher is so busy contemplating he forgets to exist.
the existence of the self is a rather funny thing, to be honest. who is to say that we do exist? who can really know that we aren’t just some fragment of the subconscious, perhaps someone else’s subconscious, just drifting in a large expanse of nonexistence? for now, though, we put those doubts are rest. we exist, we’ll assume, and for the moment, that’s all we do. sometimes you have to live simply. breathe, relax, lean back, and just exist.
My existence means something. I am here for a reason. Whether or not that reason has come to play or not already, I don’t know. I don’t think about. I just keep living everyday like that reason is still coming. I don’t need to keep wondering about why I am here, I just need to worry about what I’m going to do while I’m here.
I exist. Like everyone else.
But only a great number of us are noticed.
Because everyone, even you, judge. Walking through the halls of school, judging as we pass. Only the people who give us something to notice, will exist in our mind. And that’s why people care for looks; they want to exist in people’s minds. Everyone wants them to notice their existence. Even me, even if I to act as if I want to be invisible.
Its strange.
People who’s existence is noticed by a great number, do not want to be existent in the way they are.
Those who’s existence wasn’t noticed, could not nothing more.
-And then again, people take their existence for granted. They abuse it. We all do.-
What is the purpose of my existence?
That was the question she had asked countless times.
Why?
Then she knew.
To be a servant.
Selflessness.
Her life was not her own.
See, he died for her.
She was bought with a price.
She is the slave of christ. And happy to be one!
What if, nobody truly existed?
Paper and ink.
But none of us know it.
We don’t control our thoughts.
Some things show it.
That sense of dejavu,
may be something more.
What could it be?
Existence no more.
a choice by some, followed by all. To exist is not only be present physically, but to be a whole in everything that you are, to not exist is to be not there.
The teenage girl just layed on her bed staring up at her white ceiling. She felt salty tears roll down her cheeks as she quietly whispered to herself “why do I even exist?” Her throat starting closing up and she began to sob harder.
something that i am doing right now: existing. everything that is and ever will be exists. if it is not, then it is not.
Existence is a funny thing. It’s all that we know, and yet we cannot know it for certain. What if everything we have known is all a lie? Nothing but a mere illusion.
Existence is nil
Everywhere a wasteland
No trees, no plants, no animals
Humans gone
Destruction and chaos led to death
existence is life and if something or someone is real
life
humans
living things
living
I exist; like everyone. But only few of us are really noticed. And everyone wants to be noticed, in a different way that they are. Which is what is weird about it. The people who’s existence is known don’t really want it in the way they do. And those who existence is barely known, would want nothing more. But I. I don’t know where I stand.
Sang the beauty of existence.
Existence is – my senses sent forth to snow, sand, sun, sunshine warmth on my skin. Breath on cold air, freezing into fog that disipates into the landscape of a white-grey morning tinted with apricot from the suns rays. My existence is to note and cherish this moment and all the thousands of moments that came before and are still to come. This is my purpose for being. To be…in the earth, on the earth and feel it all.
Existence. Purely existing the way we are. most people take for granted their own existence the fact they are indeed living breathing and feeling beings. Capable of changing the world.
Vive, no existas.
She couldn’t help but wonder what it was that attracted her to him and him to her. They were two different people and from two different worlds, it didn’t make sense. She just needed to understand what kind of existence she held in his life. Was she important to him? Was she a huge part of his life as he was hers?
I ponder existance.
There are some says where I feel so… real, charged, alive.
On these days I exist and it is incredible.
There are other days where I feel like never moving from the spot that I awake in.
On these days I merely exist.
On these days I hate existing.
Unfortunatley, the days where I just exist are getting more frequent.
I ponder existance.
There are some says where I feel so… real, charged, alive.
On these days I exist and it is incredible.
There are other days where I feel like never moving from the spot that I awake in.
On these days I merely exist.
On these days I hate existing.
Unfortunatley, the days where I just exist are getting more frequent.