I've read too much, thought too much, to believe in simple answers.
Maybe once, I would've said this was God's will. Back when I still believed in things like fate, divine plans, and redemption. The truth is, I don't know what to believe anymore. I've spent years clawing my way through one mess after another, surviving things I had no right to survive. And every time, I'm left asking the same question: why?
I used to think there was a purpose behind it all, that maybe there was some grand design I couldn't see. A reason why I kept getting back up, why I wasn't left to rot on some battlefield like so many others. Hell, there was a time I thought that surviving was its own kind of proof. That every breath meant I had a role to play, even if I didn't know what it was yet.
But now? I'm not so sure. Sometimes, I wonder if I'm just a mistake. A glitch in a system too vast to comprehend. Surviving doesn't always feel like a blessing, it feels more like a cosmic joke, a reminder that the universe doesn't give a damn about us. Not in the way we want it to, anyway.
Mythology had its own answers once. I found comfort in it for a while. The idea of fate, of threads woven by unseen hands, gave me something to hold onto when the world felt like it was falling apart. But even the gods died in the end. Even the Allfather, wise as he was, couldn't stop the end. And if the gods can't escape their fate, what hope does a man like me have?
Maybe that's why I drifted. In a way, it's easier to believe in nothing than to keep asking questions that only lead to more questions. To accept that there's no guiding hand, no divine purpose, just chaos and survival. But even then... even when I try to shut it all out, there's this voice in the back of my head that won't let me rest. It's quieter now, but it's still there. Whispering, asking, what if?
What if there's more to this? What if there's something I'm not seeing? Maybe I'm still alive because I'm supposed to be. Maybe I'm still here for a reason, even if I don't know what the hell that reason is yet. Or maybe... maybe I'm just too damn stubborn to lie down and let the universe have its way with me.
I didn't ask for this. I didn't ask for the guilt, the confusion, the constant feeling that I'm drifting through a life I don't fully understand. But I'm here. I keep waking up. I keep breathing. And every time I do, I wonder if it's some kind of sign, not from the gods or some almighty being, but from the universe itself. Maybe it's telling me something, or maybe it's just pushing me along, waiting to see what I'll do next, like some fucking cosmic sadist.
The old stories used to say that warriors went to Valhalla, that death wasn't the end if you died with a sword in your hand. Fitting that, I keep dying with a weapon in my hand and coming back. This can't be what fate has resigned to me. I do know one thing: death doesn't scare me. Not like it used to. What scares me is this... this limbo. This half-life, where I'm neither here nor there. Not alive in the way I once was, but not dead either. Just... existing.
I don't know what's next. I don't know if there even is a next. Maybe there's no fate waiting for me. Maybe I've already lived past my expiration date, and the universe just forgot to pull the plug. Or maybe... maybe there's still something out there for me to do, something that matters.
Either way, I'll keep going. I'll keep moving because that's all I know how to do.
