What if all we are is really elaborate flowers and all all of what we’re talking about is just our basic instinct to spread.
Every person is just a flower of a gigantic plant.
One lives or dies makes no difference.
The only one arguing about the sanctity of the flower is the conscience the flower invented so that it could spread itself far and wide, because the conscience that it created thinks it’s sad when each flower dies.
Every feeling that you ever had is just a chemical evolutionary test to see which version of the current flower is the best.
Makes everything seem so pointless to me.
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