Why? (The Late Entry)

More about Why? (The Late Entry)

Why do we live?
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Why is the universe?
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Why do people paint fiction?
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A figure stands with their back to the viewer, wearing a raincoat. Rain falls in a mysterious landscape, reflecting vibrant colors in the puddles, while scattered papers float around.
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There is knowledge about existence,
as far as anyone can know anything,
that can break or make you.

Knowledge too complicated, too advanced, too dangerous, too promising, too deep, to ever explain.
Now, you gain it from connecting all the dots, as much as anyone ever can.

The dots, laboriously attained through heated arguments, with a kindred soul. Because if and when, you recognize that kindred soul, - well -, there's a cosmos of ideas undying and nothing, except for love, is better than being able to argue on this level, with that kindred soul.

Understanding things, you should never have known about, gets you locked out, gets you alone.
However, understanding things, you can transcend above and beyond.

Intelligence,
sometimes a blessing, often a curse.
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Or does fiction truly exist in some form?