Answer.

Why do i write indeed? Perhaps a need for an outlet, where answers are not easily found I rant for them, in the hopes of them getting heard. Why do i write? Perhaps a need to put intangible emotions into tangible words. Why do i write still? Perhaps it is to bridge that gap that mere voices can never fully express, I have more time to craft each and every single thought, condensed into a word or splashed out in a torrent of an essay. I write to fulfill all these little curiosities of mine and of human nature, as long as our history stretches, we will always remain an enigma to ourselves.

For all of my eloquence, my ardour and my desire, intricately put together as a gift for you. I would be greeted by a wall of silence. Perhaps I was merely being facetious, desperate and cheap, that in reality I do not actually subscribe to the ideals I have painted for you. Perhaps it really is so, that I am changing into something i am not, or maybe i am finally honest and brave enough to bare myself for the worm that i really am.

I can beseech you nothing no longer.

Oh hark! Dost thou not hear the most melancholy bells of irony ringing at the back of my poor little head?