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Who I write for

November 7th, 2025

I write for me. For me. For nobody else.

Not for you the reader, not for my friends, not for my family—for me. To look back and see who I was at a moment in time.

Fighting, jousting, thinking, words upon words, phrases upon phrases, and paragraphs to match.

It's all a record that I existed, in this very slot of time, and that I met people one way or another.

Yes, it's okay that I hate myself. I love myself too. Isn't that okay? Why, to feel as I do, to feel it all, just to do it all, isn't that the life I live?