Writing....writing....writing....

Sometimes life seems to be only a sucession of tragedies, sorrow and sadness. Most of the time...
And that is when I think, and think, and think. And I ask myself Why? And I know that I won't get any answer. Nobody in this universe can answer such question. At that moment, I answer myself. There is no point on this existence...

I turn everywhere and everything seems to be a futile effort to win a race or a competion against unhappiness. But is impossible to win. Everything is useless. Sooner or later...disgrace will reach you, and then you will be living with it. I do not deny that sometimes might be happiness and joy, but then I think again. What's the point, if it won't last enough....It will be never enough, even if it last a hundred years.

And then the sorrow will reign the life. When you laugh, there will be sorrow underneath..When you love, there is loneliness underneath.

Some people say: ok, then live, live and try to enjoy the most.
But is useless..when it is all over, you will not exist anymore, so It won't matter.