You know..., there was a time when I thought the world was interesting.
It was filled with interesting colors derived from different situations.
The bright, happy colors adorned people's faces when something good happened in their lives.
Dense and light colors accounted for normality and indifference among people.
And heavy, shadowy shades appeared occasionally. Most of the time in people who were dead but pretended to be alive for some reason.
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But in the end, no matter the process, all things must turn back from where they came from
All colors should become white once they reach the end.
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So, what's the point then?
If all the colors are derivative and condense back.
What meaning will be left?
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Why am I even thinking about this?
Anyway, no one will care whatsoever.
Maybe my head is really dozing off too much, my ideas probably are meaningless to others, just like their white shades are to me
After all, an ink stain should at least be conscious about living on white paper.
Just like a tool should have the conscience of a tool
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