It’s alright. (You don’t need to respond.)
What am I doing here? I feel like I snuck into a secret room… with nothing in it. It feels white. Blank. I feel like someone is watching. Listening. I’m not sure why I am here. But I feel like I need to talk anyway. Someone IS listening. But I have nothing to say. I never do, really. (That’s always been a big problem of mine.) This is sort of like a dream I had as a kid. An axiety dream. But the anxiety is not there. Nor is the task I had to perform in that dream. (I won’t talk about it now.) This room is much more peaceful. But strange anyhow. And who am I talking to? Me? God? You? Did you set this room up for me and forget me? I feel like what Pinoccio might feel if Gepetto died before Pincoccio had a chance to become a real boy. What is my purpose? I wish I was light. And happy. And let the wind carry me away…