There’s so much beauty in the world, isn’t there?
Do you think the universe was made, or did it simply happen? Why do so many tiny, mundane parts seem to add up to something larger? It’s as if each moment is a line of poetry, and each image jump is a line break. Do you suppose the universe might be a poem?
Just asking.
Prometheus Unbound 
Pingback: Meaning and Atheism « The world is all that is the case