So tell me.
As you open your raw lids while golden sunrays spill onto your plaster walls, as you blithely draw the bristles of the toothbrush across your teeth, daubed with smatterings of paste-white Colgate -
have you ever wondered what you were doing it for?
Wondering, why were you doing it? Why did you go to school, eat meals, play with friends, sleep with lovers, cry between four blank walls of death?
What are you living for?
Do you live for yourself - to enjoy, to revel, to relish?
Or do you wake up for someone else - for a lover, for a daughter, for the Lord?
Or, perhaps, you loiter in limbo, an in between of these two positions: enjoying living for your God, maybe? To love and be loved, and so to revel in basking glory of love?
I live not for the pleasures, not for the decadence, and not for the honour of life, but for the beauty of it -for the chance to live at all, and experience all the miracles it presents us with; from the births of babies to the beatific gifts of love.
I live for these things; to see the birth of my newborn, to feel the love of my husband, to hear the melodies of beatifully woven songs. To feel love. And despair - for nothing is complete, plausible or believable without sorrows.
I linger in no-man's land, torn between two sides, uncertain but sure of the things that I live for, for the people that I pull through each day for.
For is life not a pain unto itself? Is life not a blessing without curses?
Is life really everything that we've always dreamed of?