Ancestors of Fish

It is a thin line between failure and success. Indeed, it is chalk-like, smudged, transient--much like the human condition. Human. Flawed-mortal-wounded-ugly-frightening-beautiful-feeling-living-breathing-Human. I am a member of the human race, capable of pity and empathy, thusly separating me from the animals and vegetation. If I weren't divinely created by a God, I would merely exist as a bundle of accidental nerves and fibers, which somehow mutated on its own to form...me. That. Is. Depressing. I cannot accept the idea that my friends' genetic material originated from freakish crawling fish and soullessly developed over millions of years to be the beautiful creatures they are today, demonstrative of complex emotion and contemplation. The light bulb did not invent itself on accident. Neither did human beings. You can recognize, easily, who values you as a unique, beautiful piece of creation, and who merely views you as specimen of inconvenient chance. I choose to utilize the former lens.