Why do I keep asking why?

What to write…

What to write?

So many things we can write about…

But which to choose?

Which to write about?

Things to do, things we want, things that should stop, or should I just write about things?

Things, things, things, things, things.

Could I write about my life,

or someone else's life?

Some thing that happened along time ago

or some thing that will happen.

Or about the sun or the moon or stars.

But nobody cares about what I write.

Nobody cares to hear what I think.

So why try?

Why think of things to write about when no one will ever care?

No one will ever see what I write, so why try?

Why do I keep writing?

Why do I have this pen in my hand?

Why is my hand on my chin?

Words just keep coming out.

 But why?

And then silence.

No one to answer. No one to care. No one to listen.

No one but me.

So just me then. I will write for me. I will write what I want to. I will write what makes me happy. If no one cares, then what's stopping me? Before I could not stop, but now my mind is a blank. Is that because nothing makes me happy, or because I don't care? Why do I keep asking when I know no one will ever answer? Why do I keep asking why? And here I go agene… but why do I care?