Meaning...

It comes to me that I have ceased to ponder.

Why life?

Why you?

Why me?

Is there ever a stage that these questions cease their incessant buzzing, wave upon upon wave of unbearable curiosity not slaked, perhaps insatiable.

Is this world perfect? This instantaneous meanings that we have been taught to assign each and every mutable, tangible thing... What does it mean?

Language, itself, the first thing we were taught (immersed, drowned) is the very essence of the assignation of meaning. Without meaning what are we? And why are we, driven to seek meaning?

What is...meaning?

Do people have meanings? actions?
candles and roses and things?

Why do words have meanings and people dont?

Why do actions mean something, what are feelings.

Why does one thing mean they like us, another mean they dont.

What is guilt, can guilt exist without a conscience? If I consciously assign meaning that I have caused you sorrow, then is it justifiable that I feel guilty? Is it possible therefore to assume that I have assigned meaning incorrectly that one can be guilty without reason. Then what is the correlation between meaning and reason?

Reason is the why, I suppose.

What does this mean.

I'm sorry.