I wrote this during my internship. Everyone was out for lunch. I was in an air-conditioned room on the 32nd floor, with lights and sounds turned off. I just think this one's beautiful:
(Excerpt) But there's something more that points to that which gives us meaning. It's not that which is a semblance of the transcendental; not that things have purpose, but that we are turned to each other. If life was an unfinished tapestry, meaning lies not in the fibers or strands but the light/color they awaken in each other- without anyone knowing what the tapestry depicts.
These are mainly useless thoughts. They're not very particular, but I think it conveys what I mean. What is true and meaningful can only be that which is lived.
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