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The gun, at the back of the head, not literally, but figuratively. The gun that sits in the back of the mind so deep that it is rarely seen, only to resurface to your conscience every once and awhile. But even as it sits unseen, the back of your mind still knows it's there, and anxiety encloses your body ever so slightly so that you can't put your finger on it, but it haunts the moment subtlety in the mind. The gun has a holder, uncertainty, the kind that defies any happiness that could be found ignorance or brilliance. The gun that plagues a very particular person, a person such as me. Every man is ignorant to some degree, but for me, i am special, special in the sense that i am so average it is unlike any other. I know and don't know many things, but i don't know things that everyone else doesn't know: God, purpose, what is and why? Generic questions that anyone would ask, yet i am not ignorant enough to have these fly over my head without a worry in the world and i am not smart enough to let these fly over my head without a worry in the world. Average. I churn these questions in a pointless manner, for i know i will not find an answer, yet i can't help it. This is what consumes me, this is what holds the cold black metal to the back of my head. And then I begin to think. Life, it holds almost no bounds in the human mind. It is what creates mostly happy moments. Mostly. It fosters your mind so you can shed tears of joy while in the glorious moments, and shed tears of sorrow as it fosters a mind that can replay that moment countless times in remembrance, knowing that they have past. Mostly. It fosters your mind so you can shed tears of sorrow while in the somber moments, and shed tears of joy as it fosters a mind that can replay that moment countless times in remembrance, knowing that they have past. Mostly. In the end, even when you were in instances where all seems lost, pessimistic, dismal, and melancholy, there is one last tear shed. Mostly. A tear of joy because in life, you have felt, in life, you have been through countless experiences, good or bad but at least you felt, which leads you to be content. Mostly. But for me, this is impossible, for it lurks here, for i know that i do not and will not know. That at the end of life is death, and what then! How could one stay content knowing that all this may be nothing! That religion is a fraud, that all these experiences will be lost forever, your mind deleted into an existence of nothing and with it, you become an empty shell that exhibits nothing! A lifeless corpse that never knew that it once felt! Yet it is not this, for it can be said as nothing but the word nothing does not display the concept of nothing! For this feeling of nothing is indescribable! We are bound to our conscious and it has only felt, it has never experienced a moment without feeling! It is the unknown, a figure that takes no shape because it resides in so many different questions that fill my mind that i almost feel content with the matter because i know that the answer will never be found, that the concept is so vast that may have infinite solution, one, or even none. So i am mostly content. Mostly...
