Is there a really a point to living?

Why do we fight?

What's the point?

I ask myself the question every day.

Why? Why did God make us. He created us to kill us. We fight it, but eventually it consumes us all.

Death.

It's inevitable, we can't fight it.

It will win in the end.

The worse?

I'm not scared of it.

I know it will come and someday it will consume me like the rest, whether I like it or not.

It will come.

Eventually, I will become a memory like the rest. Maybe I will be in a textbook, or maybe I will forgotten like the rest.

A name on a stone, nothing more.

Why will it matter?

Either way I'm dead.