I've read it described as "derealization" or "existential crisis," but in all sincerity, the phrase fails to accurately portray.

Our lives are, needless to say, infinitesimal. In the grander scheme, the transient journey we perceive, we're nothing but pebbles on a long, windy path. A path of unfathomable length- way beyond our feeble conscious understanding.

I sincerely believe there's a meaning to it all- a tangible beauty that manifests in everything. The beautiful music, the vibrant portraits, the stunning sensations. There's an indescribable feeling I can't quell.

I don't believe life is devoid of any meaning, but it's entirely full of it. That's the the joke- we're living it wrong.

Can we all just slow down? Goals serve their purpose, but what lies ahead of it? More of the same?

Breathe. Time stops for no man.