I love to read stories and imagine how life would be if I could go back in time I wouldn't steal anyone's achievements and claim them as my own or anything out of this world, I would want to be a happy person. And the more I think about it is anyone really happy? I mean I'm so glad at times but I'm not always happy 24/7 365 days a year, and the more I think about it I'm indifferent or sad around 2/3rds of the year. So what makes people so different? I see happy, sad, mad, angry, and lost people all over the place and everywhere I go. And it got me thinking even in the stories I read no one is happy they must struggle to reach the end and even then it doesn't mean they are happy. so what does it mean to be happy?

I don't know why I'm talking to you about this it's not like you can respond only read you don't even know what my voice sounds like. Well, that would make two of us, I don't even know what my voice sounds like. But back to the subject what is happiness? I have felt happy but it never stays and it's an ongoing battle for me to force myself to be happy. do you? I read and it makes me happy but only because it is an escape from how worthless I know I truly am I'm not the main character I'm not even a side character, I'm just one of the billions maybe trillions of humans born on this pale blue rock. And that doesn't include every other creature on this planet (or will be) or in the whole universe or multi-verse, I don't know! everything feels like it's floating and that no matter what my life will end the same way it started in a blip not even sending out waves in time (if that even exists) and space. I feel like living is supposed to be more than I or other people [ though I can't speak for them] actually end up if ever have lived.

When does it change? when I die? or does it go on? like nothing ever ends because we are stuck in a loop repeating the same story on repeat forever never to end? if an afterlife exists who would want one? I think if it does exist it's not a heaven or hell (though what can I say ) but a purgatory made up of our own minds when we die where we judge ourselves for how we have lived until we decide we deserve our eternal sleep. wait does that mean that living is the process of dying? Now that I think of it even in stories even gods die or sleep for a millennium is the purpose of living to die and if so what for? and who if anyone decided on that? and why do we have art and wonder if so?

Mabey I need a hobby other than reading and writing these letters to me myself and the reader? Are you dead though is this just a flashback in my life or yours the reader? Are we from the same world or dimension or even multi-verse that was split in two? Maybe the same thing happens with the afterlife it is split between and cracked into multiple realms or realities that all exist at the same time yet not at all! though I wish to extend our visiting exchange of words I must go think about this thought and the irony of being everywhere yet nowhere all at once. until we meet again

-The Marked Lady