We who have been made to make
The creators who have been created
The lovers who have been loved
We can not not follow the impulse
Towards meaning.
This little poem (from the first Proost poetry collection ‘Learning to Love’) reminded me of this today:
Existence, by Becca Campling
Make beauty from dust
And spread it across the canvas of the world
Dream dreams you have to grow into
And dare to believe you will
