Existential

We live in a cloud. We get caught up in the fictional, dedicate our hearts to objects that can never love. And in the cloud we can’t see the darkness of death ahead - the absolute abyss of nothingness afterwards. What’s the point of it all when in the end we disappear in nonexistence? We can only serve to benefit others once we’re gone, so why are we such selfish beings? The finality of existence is one of the most frightening things, and it’s inevitable. So why not make it worth something.