I admit that I am nothing that desires to be something in order to conceal my insecurities.
This hollow self of mine ceaselessly chases validation in an attempt to inflate the price of my life by associating itself with things that seem of high value: attractive people, expensive possessions, quality experiences, well-known establishments. But still, the price of my life remains the same, because there was no price for it to begin with.
The cost of my life was nothing to begin with and it will remain so no matter what I create, who I befriend, or what organization I am part of. Life gives us nothing but the relentless experience of existence, the endless sequence of the sun's rise and fall. This continues until the final moment when nothing of which you thought you accumulated is given back and kings are buried with slaves.