You are living proof. Living proof of what, exactly? That humans are intelligent? That God exists, maybe. That a god exists. Because when we live, we do what we want, we choose what to do as we live. That shows that we have the power
Living. I wonder how much of it I’ve been doing. I spend little to no times with others, away from my house, or attempting to grow in any way shape or form. I don’t think about things too heavily because it depresses me to a point of insanity. The other day I spent an hour suicidal because I started wondering about my worth in the big pool of humanity. About humanity’s worth in general. And how I’ve tossed away dreams over the years and am living the life of a cliche middle aged, divorced, adult novel protagonist. And it all just depressed me. But then I realized that I am not looking for some deep other worldly meaning in life. I live simply for my own satisfaction. I call this the Sherlock Holmes approache to life and purpose. Holmes didn’t care whether or not his life had meaning. He merely drifted through it doing what he wanted. Studying whatever caught his fancy. I know I can’t live exactly like this because I don’t have the privelage to be a straight, cisgender, wealthy, white man in early twentieth century England. However, I can try as much as I can. Can’t I? After all, a purpose only lasts as long as the person is alive. My purpose has an experation date just like everything else in life.
Jake Carder
I watched through the trees, trying not to make a sound. My best friends, the ones I left only months ago, were gathering around a giant fire in the middle of an open field. I heard the yelling before I saw it. Caden held a picture over his head, and I could see it was my old school picture. It crackled once it hit the flames. That was it. I was the next sacrifice.
I’m so focused on making progress that I can barely stop and breathe. Without breath I’m lifeless, so I should focus on pleasing me for a change instead of trying to please people I don’t even know in the world around me.
Life is for living. Or so she said. For me, life is for sitting, laying down, sleeping, but not living. I sit here in this bed day in and day out, hoping, praying that one day I will be able to leave. My idea of leaving, though, doesn’t involve me walking out. Oh no, much more spiritual means are in order.
K. Easton
Living. Think water. Think the spread of grass and light. Think the quiet of snow, the hard chunks of steak, the roar of a crowd when the ball falls through the hoop. Think your mother knifing through fish. Think water again, cold, dribbling down the glass. Light. Light.
TJ
Living away from my family has taught me many things. The value of true love and care, the inseparable bond we share, that blood is thinker than water. What it’s taught me most, though, was that there truly is no place like home.
So many others out there are oh so tired of living. It’s strange to think that I may have glanced and//or smiled, or… even completely ignored someone that can’t handle being alive any longer. That hate who they’re surrounded with and plan on taking their lives if there isn’t a change soon. I want to help them and let them know that they’re not alone.
The living are just the dead. They just don’t realize it yet. Many are just living dead, zombies going through day to day life experiencing the same thing over and over and over until the “living” part of their title is forcibly removed.
Madeline Cost
living,…what do i say? living. i am living, breathing each day. but am i living my dreams? seeing nature, life. having fun and living well? being one with earth, getting full enjoyment and happiness ? i want to live…
Ashley Tenney
Living is what I’m doing right now
Sam
living is better than dying. living lets you be with people you love, lets you do things you love, lets you have experiences you love. living is like listening to your favorite song, forever. and it never gets boring. living is loving.
Cat
sometimes you wonder… is life really worth living? You go about your daily business, when you are happy, sad angry annoyed… and for what? Life is so insignificant… and painful. Sometimes i wish i had the courage to stop living, sometimes it is too painful. But then there are the times that life is beautiful, so much so that it brings a tear to my eye… you read a beautiful peom… see the sun rise, and you think maybe it’s worth living another day
mackenzie
Many things are living. You have bugs and plants and, little mammals, us. We are living. We are humans, but unlike all these other things, we can live without living.
Erin Gieseke
They say that dying is hard. Dying is easy. One quick motion or movement and it’s over. If you watch a horror movie, you notice that the second someone dies it’s all over. It’s real easy to die or get dead. It’s living that’s hard. That willingness to soldier on and to continue, despite or because of everything — that’s the challenge.
The only certainty in life is death. Many dispute the point of life but I think it is death because it is the only thing that we all do. Perhaps life is like the growing stage of a seed and we will blossom into something greater after life.
Nolan
My past collections:
Caterpillar eggs—as opaque as pearls—on teardrop leaves. But only in odd numbers.
Angular rocks that felt satisfying to squeeze. My brother’s polished tiger’s eye especially when he wasn’t looking.
Autumn breaths. Every breath as fresh as first steps into a pool.
Cards smaller than a child’s palm. The most I’d pay for each one would be a dollar and a half.
Times I heard my mother humming, unaware that she was heard.
Tender gestures: fingertips on the small of my back, a hand sifting through hair, shifting closer even while asleep, temples leaning into my neck, a specific look with sad eyes and a smile.
Reality sets in. Walking into the darkness of think air, she sways, clenching her heart beside her. Can how this be, this poor old girl? Has she gone insane? Why must this be called living, this cave of abyss waiting to eat her heart out.
Erica
so close to the edge, literally and figuratively, I practice balance and resilience, hopefully with grace.
Lucinda
There is nothing so amazing as living in this beautiful life that we do. If anything, we are more blessed than other creatures to be in such a beautiful world, even if we are messing it up and can’t get a grip. We fear death because of the concept of time, but there is not a better time in the world than right Now. So start living.
Vivir consistee básicamente en masturbarse todos los días. Yo intento hacerlo. Por la mañana, al despertar, mi pene ya está duro y debo masturbarme, es la hora en la que mejores fantasías tengo
I live in this day of the dead as reminders consume the collapsing air around your memory. The positive mask has crumpled on this one day of the year. You changed my every outlook on life and molded me into the lover of words that I have become today…I thank you for that much but that doesn’t wish away the sting of your absence.
masked habit
I feel like I am living, but I’m trapped within my mind. I want to be free to do as I please and say what I feel, but I know that I can’t. There is always that voice within me, holding me back, telling me “No, don’t do this” or “No, not right now” Well why not now? Why not always? I want to live.
Sarah
Living well is the best revenge. No one can make you mad, sad or indifferent unless you let them…and since you can’t win everyone’s love then just go about your business and be happy.
paulie aragon
Living your life is never an easy thing. You fall, you stand up and go, things go in your life, then later on go away. It’s so difficult to define why there’s so much difficulty in living our life, in a right way.
It’s not fair. Why do some people get to live, and others’ lives are cut short? It’s really sad. It’s unfair. It’s biased. Yet idiots still say “Everything happens for a reason”. Did an unecessary death happen for a reason? Tell me, did it? I’m pretty fucking positive it didn’t. It’s a treasure to live – don’t abuse it or take it for granted.
jelissa
Living is beautiful, living is full of surprise and pain. There is always something new coming, even if it is old. Living things are amazing to behold.
Going out, doing the things you’ve always wanted to do. Staying in, reading a book and not thinking about anything. Everyone has a different definition of living. A living room is a place when family and friends gather to play games and watch television and talk.
I have been living for 16 years, which is more than many people, less than some. But I don’t remember all of the people I have met through those 16 years of living. I’ve met them in passing, friends of friends, a knowing smile exchanged maybe. But I will never know them.
allie
My ability to live is based on an involuntary bodily function, which causes me to breath and my heart to circulate blood to all the parts of my body. I love living, and living a life with freedom from what others think about me. I love being and individual, and believe that our society lacks a certain individuality.
John
Living is a verb. It can be done so many different ways. Loud, bright, and vibrantly. Silently, and in the dark.
I am not living, no. I’m waiting for something to happen. Waiting for something to happen on its own. I know it won’t, but perhaps it will. If i close my eyes and wait. That’s all i do, wait.
Marissa
I am living the life I always wished to live but the fulfillment of my desire has quenched my thirst forever to reach out to people who need me.
I can’t help but think no one is truly living, no one reallu knows what it is like. To live, or to love. Nobody even cares it seems, everybody seems okay with being stationary. Its not right.
Marissa
When I starded living I was really, really little, I’m still little, but I’ve lived longer, and know I remembered someone who let me saw I was still little, in a charm, sweet way, with his charmed, sweet eyes. The cold, kissed night could have been better.
This is a trick!
Ale
She was beautiful. Her hair was thick and matted like treetrunks curling down over her back. God she was beautiful. As I touched her skin, which felt creamy and smooth against the callouses of my fingertips, I felt a thought bubble up to my lips. “This is living”, I murmured.
Miranda
Living, breathing, slavering beasts. At first they had been nothing more than a figment of the imagination, but now. Now they quite obviously lived. Lived and breathed. Each one aching to rip to any other living thing they came across to shreds.
Living. Existing. Breathing. Moving forward, or at least pretending to. These days I don’t feel like I’m doing much of real living–am I doing anything worthwhile? Heck, I’m not even making a living, but I’m still here. Maybe that means something, after all. Maybe it’s not completely useless.
You are living proof. Living proof of what, exactly? That humans are intelligent? That God exists, maybe. That a god exists. Because when we live, we do what we want, we choose what to do as we live. That shows that we have the power
Living. I wonder how much of it I’ve been doing. I spend little to no times with others, away from my house, or attempting to grow in any way shape or form. I don’t think about things too heavily because it depresses me to a point of insanity. The other day I spent an hour suicidal because I started wondering about my worth in the big pool of humanity. About humanity’s worth in general. And how I’ve tossed away dreams over the years and am living the life of a cliche middle aged, divorced, adult novel protagonist. And it all just depressed me. But then I realized that I am not looking for some deep other worldly meaning in life. I live simply for my own satisfaction. I call this the Sherlock Holmes approache to life and purpose. Holmes didn’t care whether or not his life had meaning. He merely drifted through it doing what he wanted. Studying whatever caught his fancy. I know I can’t live exactly like this because I don’t have the privelage to be a straight, cisgender, wealthy, white man in early twentieth century England. However, I can try as much as I can. Can’t I? After all, a purpose only lasts as long as the person is alive. My purpose has an experation date just like everything else in life.
I watched through the trees, trying not to make a sound. My best friends, the ones I left only months ago, were gathering around a giant fire in the middle of an open field. I heard the yelling before I saw it. Caden held a picture over his head, and I could see it was my old school picture. It crackled once it hit the flames. That was it. I was the next sacrifice.
If I made it out alive, I’d do anything.
I’m so focused on making progress that I can barely stop and breathe. Without breath I’m lifeless, so I should focus on pleasing me for a change instead of trying to please people I don’t even know in the world around me.
Life is for living. Or so she said. For me, life is for sitting, laying down, sleeping, but not living. I sit here in this bed day in and day out, hoping, praying that one day I will be able to leave. My idea of leaving, though, doesn’t involve me walking out. Oh no, much more spiritual means are in order.
Living. Think water. Think the spread of grass and light. Think the quiet of snow, the hard chunks of steak, the roar of a crowd when the ball falls through the hoop. Think your mother knifing through fish. Think water again, cold, dribbling down the glass. Light. Light.
Living away from my family has taught me many things. The value of true love and care, the inseparable bond we share, that blood is thinker than water. What it’s taught me most, though, was that there truly is no place like home.
So many others out there are oh so tired of living. It’s strange to think that I may have glanced and//or smiled, or… even completely ignored someone that can’t handle being alive any longer. That hate who they’re surrounded with and plan on taking their lives if there isn’t a change soon. I want to help them and let them know that they’re not alone.
I am living.
No, my bad.
I am leaving.
The living are just the dead. They just don’t realize it yet. Many are just living dead, zombies going through day to day life experiencing the same thing over and over and over until the “living” part of their title is forcibly removed.
living,…what do i say? living. i am living, breathing each day. but am i living my dreams? seeing nature, life. having fun and living well? being one with earth, getting full enjoyment and happiness ? i want to live…
Living is what I’m doing right now
living is better than dying. living lets you be with people you love, lets you do things you love, lets you have experiences you love. living is like listening to your favorite song, forever. and it never gets boring. living is loving.
sometimes you wonder… is life really worth living? You go about your daily business, when you are happy, sad angry annoyed… and for what? Life is so insignificant… and painful. Sometimes i wish i had the courage to stop living, sometimes it is too painful. But then there are the times that life is beautiful, so much so that it brings a tear to my eye… you read a beautiful peom… see the sun rise, and you think maybe it’s worth living another day
Many things are living. You have bugs and plants and, little mammals, us. We are living. We are humans, but unlike all these other things, we can live without living.
They say that dying is hard. Dying is easy. One quick motion or movement and it’s over. If you watch a horror movie, you notice that the second someone dies it’s all over. It’s real easy to die or get dead. It’s living that’s hard. That willingness to soldier on and to continue, despite or because of everything — that’s the challenge.
The only certainty in life is death. Many dispute the point of life but I think it is death because it is the only thing that we all do. Perhaps life is like the growing stage of a seed and we will blossom into something greater after life.
My past collections:
Caterpillar eggs—as opaque as pearls—on teardrop leaves. But only in odd numbers.
Angular rocks that felt satisfying to squeeze. My brother’s polished tiger’s eye especially when he wasn’t looking.
Autumn breaths. Every breath as fresh as first steps into a pool.
Cards smaller than a child’s palm. The most I’d pay for each one would be a dollar and a half.
Times I heard my mother humming, unaware that she was heard.
Tender gestures: fingertips on the small of my back, a hand sifting through hair, shifting closer even while asleep, temples leaning into my neck, a specific look with sad eyes and a smile.
Going home to a bombed out schoolhouse, sleeping under more stars than I could ever see back in Seattle, mud, blood, and toil. This is living.
Reality sets in. Walking into the darkness of think air, she sways, clenching her heart beside her. Can how this be, this poor old girl? Has she gone insane? Why must this be called living, this cave of abyss waiting to eat her heart out.
so close to the edge, literally and figuratively, I practice balance and resilience, hopefully with grace.
There is nothing so amazing as living in this beautiful life that we do. If anything, we are more blessed than other creatures to be in such a beautiful world, even if we are messing it up and can’t get a grip. We fear death because of the concept of time, but there is not a better time in the world than right Now. So start living.
Vivir consistee básicamente en masturbarse todos los días. Yo intento hacerlo. Por la mañana, al despertar, mi pene ya está duro y debo masturbarme, es la hora en la que mejores fantasías tengo
I live in this day of the dead as reminders consume the collapsing air around your memory. The positive mask has crumpled on this one day of the year. You changed my every outlook on life and molded me into the lover of words that I have become today…I thank you for that much but that doesn’t wish away the sting of your absence.
I feel like I am living, but I’m trapped within my mind. I want to be free to do as I please and say what I feel, but I know that I can’t. There is always that voice within me, holding me back, telling me “No, don’t do this” or “No, not right now” Well why not now? Why not always? I want to live.
Living well is the best revenge. No one can make you mad, sad or indifferent unless you let them…and since you can’t win everyone’s love then just go about your business and be happy.
Living your life is never an easy thing. You fall, you stand up and go, things go in your life, then later on go away. It’s so difficult to define why there’s so much difficulty in living our life, in a right way.
It’s not fair. Why do some people get to live, and others’ lives are cut short? It’s really sad. It’s unfair. It’s biased. Yet idiots still say “Everything happens for a reason”. Did an unecessary death happen for a reason? Tell me, did it? I’m pretty fucking positive it didn’t. It’s a treasure to live – don’t abuse it or take it for granted.
Living is beautiful, living is full of surprise and pain. There is always something new coming, even if it is old. Living things are amazing to behold.
Going out, doing the things you’ve always wanted to do. Staying in, reading a book and not thinking about anything. Everyone has a different definition of living. A living room is a place when family and friends gather to play games and watch television and talk.
I have been living for 16 years, which is more than many people, less than some. But I don’t remember all of the people I have met through those 16 years of living. I’ve met them in passing, friends of friends, a knowing smile exchanged maybe. But I will never know them.
My ability to live is based on an involuntary bodily function, which causes me to breath and my heart to circulate blood to all the parts of my body. I love living, and living a life with freedom from what others think about me. I love being and individual, and believe that our society lacks a certain individuality.
Living is a verb. It can be done so many different ways. Loud, bright, and vibrantly. Silently, and in the dark.
I am not living, no. I’m waiting for something to happen. Waiting for something to happen on its own. I know it won’t, but perhaps it will. If i close my eyes and wait. That’s all i do, wait.
I am living the life I always wished to live but the fulfillment of my desire has quenched my thirst forever to reach out to people who need me.
I can’t help but think no one is truly living, no one reallu knows what it is like. To live, or to love. Nobody even cares it seems, everybody seems okay with being stationary. Its not right.
When I starded living I was really, really little, I’m still little, but I’ve lived longer, and know I remembered someone who let me saw I was still little, in a charm, sweet way, with his charmed, sweet eyes. The cold, kissed night could have been better.
This is a trick!
She was beautiful. Her hair was thick and matted like treetrunks curling down over her back. God she was beautiful. As I touched her skin, which felt creamy and smooth against the callouses of my fingertips, I felt a thought bubble up to my lips. “This is living”, I murmured.
Living, breathing, slavering beasts. At first they had been nothing more than a figment of the imagination, but now. Now they quite obviously lived. Lived and breathed. Each one aching to rip to any other living thing they came across to shreds.
Living. Existing. Breathing. Moving forward, or at least pretending to. These days I don’t feel like I’m doing much of real living–am I doing anything worthwhile? Heck, I’m not even making a living, but I’m still here. Maybe that means something, after all. Maybe it’s not completely useless.