The purpose of "something" is found only instantly. In that same instant, it looses purpose,
it becomes just a mean... not a destiny, not something that is gained.
It survives only as long as the purpose is denied and annihilated by an unfulfilled end point.
We are never allowed to view that "end point". We dream only of reaching it,we extend our hand only to find it a mere centimeter away from grasp. The hairs on our fingers brush on it, the sensation is magical, nauseating, as when you dream and the moment you open your eyes you can taste your dream, but you cant remember it. And you try. It seems important that you do, but you cant.
It just slips further. And the feeling of almost remembering becomes less and less pleasureful. But at first,the taste, that specific feeling of almost touching THE truth, the essence, your essence, is almost orgasmic. It touches an inner most part of you that has only been touched a dozen times in this lifetime. It lays next to the barrel of forgotten words, words that leave joy in your mouth once you've found the exact place to place them, to the smiles that can only exhort as much kindness, love, devotion, thanks, as that which lies in your eyes.
Purpose. Who are we to look for a purpose to the chaos that is this existence? The purpose is an ambitious need, an even more ambitious search. And you will seek. Far and wide. And you will fail. Not meaning you will never succeed. For there is pleasure to be found, sensations yet to be wrongly placed into words.
Life is never still, it is gone the second it happens.
*This drawing lost purpose the moment I gave it one. I've given it a new one, which will also fail.
And it did.
