Who are we: The Purpose.
Don’t these dusty bones live? And tell their stories, or are they forever trapped in silence? Who can speak for them now?
Are we just this projection, this simulation from the depths of the universe? Playing out some universal story? The beginning and end already written?
Where is our free will then?
How does it cause us pain, make us bleed? End us?
Is there beauty in this? This ultimate program? The synchronicity of all the moving parts?
Where then is the purpose?