We desire meaning, and yet we cannot have it. Instead, we are bound to live a tragic existence, trying to make sense of a world in which I am forced to write you six letters in a row, and receive no response. Six. Don't you understand? I desire you, and yet I cannot have you. Why does the Absurd taunt me so? Is it something I said? Seriously, you can tell me. I can no longer stand the cruel, indifferent silence of the universe. Like, just a response would be nice. Or you know what? I don't even care anymore. Don't go out with me. I'm going to die soon anyway, and life is better without meaning. That way I can never be disappointed.