Here in my hands, I hold the meaning of life.
It’s not much.
A bit of writing scrawled upon a sheet of crinkled paper.
It’s sealed up nice and tight in an envelope.
The seal has not yet been broken. No one has viewed it before.
But yet here in my hands, I hold this meaning of life.

Devastating. Possibly enlightening.
That is, knowing your sole purpose to live.
Knowing your every breath is sailing into destiny.
Knowing there’s nothing that will alter a single steel path.
Disappointment. Distraught at what will become.
And what is to be.

Mystery. The opposite of knowledge.
The dirt-laden path that veers the other way.
Soft and flexible. Hopeful.
What a pity to banish such hope.
And lead towards the single steel path of knowledge.

Here in my hands, I hold the meaning of life.
A meaning that, unrevealed, would be meaningless.
A meaning that, uncovered, would be -
Well.
I don’t know.
Who’s to say what’s meaningful.
Who’s to even know.

Here in my hands, I hold the meaning of life
Do you want it?