[I got lazy and posted scribbles instead of makeing this a poem... mabe later when I have more time I will fix that/this]
The crude fact that you will never truly know that anything is real.
Your reality is still and always will be an experience through your limited human form.
For all you know we really could be in the matrix.
But this also means:
Reality may never have needed our existences to be real,
We may be existing in a reality where our truths are lies,
But again I say if this is reality:
And we have the privilege to have a chance at seeing the real truth.
Why would we not try and take what we can from that?
We ask where we are going in life?
But forget to ask where we are now?
Do we even know, can we ever know?
Is life one long dream?