Nearly half of 2024 is gone. But it’s still an illusion. I know. There’s no year, week, or day. Life is just a straight line from the time you were born to death. No magical phases, generations, or parts of life as you thought. There’s no old, grown, child, etc., teenager. Only you. Moving on your line to death.

The only thing you have is your journey. You’re the painter of your life. Just like this text, and you’re writing it down. You’re the one who holds it.

You can skip, draw lines, go alive, make a scribble, zigzag, or light worlds.

You don’t have to understand much to have a life. There’s no requirement. You just do. There’s no standard. Just be. Doing nothing counts. Being angry counts. Crying counts. Anything. Just draw anything. Just be it. You’re the artist of your life.

Everything you do contributes to this grand giant masterpiece called humanity. If you miss just one piece — your piece — it won’t be complete. So please, be you. Be yours. I don’t know.

No atom thinks they’re beautiful and important to the universe. But they are. Every one of them.

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