So my best friend and I decided to google presidential fan fiction, and he was laughing so hard he fell off his bed and twisted his elbow and then I fell behind the mattress and twisted my ankle and we were lying on his floor laughing our heads off in varying degrees of pain and his mom and her friend from college were talking in the room across the hall and we just hear: “Are they ok? Should we go check on them??” “No, they’re most likely doing something on the internet, or making fun of Killing Stalking.”
I don’t think existence wants you to be serious. I have not seen a serious tree. I have not seen a serious bird. I have not seen a serious sunrise. I have not seen a serious starry night. It seems they are all laughing in their own ways, dancing in their own ways. We may not understand it, but there is a subtle feeling that the whole existence is a celebration.