Who are you, waiting so patiently? Why do I struggle for you – to explain, to string perfect words together, to map vistas of emotions, of ideas, of feelings? What is this obsession with communication? I am, in the end, the only one who can truly understand these thoughts. I should keep them to myself. A treasure. A secret.
Why add my drop to this ocean of mediocrity? My own reactions to these words are the only ones that count. The only ones I trust. The only ones I believe.
Perhaps it is to prove I exist beyond my shell. I think, therefore I am only goes so far. I write, so that you’ll know I am. This is not about legacy. I don’t care what happens what after I’m dead. When I cease to exist, so will you.
No, I must imagine right now that you are there and that you will see this, that I am not alone on this screen. Because, the opposite is true too. When you cease to exist, so will I. You read, therefore I am.
Mind of a Mouse 