Looking for the answer to my hopes and dreams. What will make me feel fulfilled. I know my life is short and I am absolutely terrified of an eternal life beyond this mortal one.  The thing is, we’re all connected in a way of pure meaninglessness in the grand scheme of things.  Our world is created based on what we place meaning and value on.  The trick is finding that meaning, holding on to it and making it grow.  Some pick religion, money, family, sex, knowledge and many others.  

I do not know which will satisfy me. None have come fully formed in my own mind.  

I like to think love could be my meaning.  To give love to another and receive it in return. To build up a person whole heartedly while they share themselves with me.

 I can see it in my brother’s face when he holds his son.  It is truly awe inspiring. I can only imagine the love and connection people have for another….To sacrifice all you have for another.  I feel like I would do that now, but only because I feel my life has such small meaning.  

The task at hand is to find this love for myself and others in a true and real form which does not feel fake.

“That every single person you see on the street has a story. They’ve had highs that would dizzy you, lows that would cripple you, loved, laughed, thought the same thoughts in the dark of the night and know stories of people who you can never meet.

Every single person, even the most depraved criminal, is precious beyond words only if for their experience.
And you will never be able to truly know them.”

“All those good things you have in you. The love, the wisdom, the generosity, the selflessness, and patience…”

Why did Sara fall off the swing?

Because she had no arms.

Knock, knock

Who’s there?

Not Sara.

longreads:

[Fiction] A home-schooled minotaur enters high school and learns to adjust: 

At the mall a lady offers me a free sample of zit cream and I’m about to be all sarcastic, like “Look, lady— I’ve got a giant bull’s head. No one’s going to notice a few zits.”

But there’s something about the way she’s smiling at me, not a plastic fantastic artificial airbrushed smile like all the ladies on the magazines, that draws me up short and makes me smile back at her (have you ever seen a bull smile? It took me years of practice to get my lips to curl just right) and yeah, I know she’s been trained in the fine art of zit cream sales but either she’s the best actress in the world or she’s the nicest person in the world and either way my heart just melts. Zits or no zits, suddenly I know this year is going to be different.

“I Was a Teenage Minotaur.” — A.G. Pasquella, Joyland

See more #fiction longreads