I wonder if God exists in a big huge bubble, i wonder if only innocence could be contemplated through children, and why the world is imagined by its own selfishness to exist, we must wonder if that is the reason for something to be than nothing at all, and why does it take people years to figure that out ?
when you create are you imagining the things you could be? I wonder if a canvas of painted black is an emptiness that must be filled or if death has more meaning as you move toward it as your years grow old. And what have we left if just that small spark of life inside us all. God would only imagine, that there is actually nothing wrong at all.
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