monologue intérieur

Wanting something to write but not being able to think of something to write, maybe I should end this sentance. Self conscious about my writing, why do I write (why should I write) when I have nothing to say to no one in particular. What will anthropologists see while looking through the internet centuries from now? It's something I will never know, because when I die I cease to be what is me and become something else, and the future will go on without me. That is what I am afraid of most: people moving on. I'll miss out on so much when I die. Why do I dwell on death so often? Does it still make life more valuable to me or am I only driven by a morbid curiosity, wondering if life isn't playing some prank on me that will end in a surprise! death is not the end, that was a joke and now you get to really wake up. I'd like that to happen, it means that life cared enough to prank me, but my mind will cease to be but my carbon will be eternal until even death dies. Will the universe die or is it just living a cyclical life and nothing is progressive but instead regressive after one cycle is complete? Does a question mark go there. Does a period go there? I want her to be reading this because I want her, like life, to care. Maybe that's all I need. Someone to care. Does my dad care? I don't know, I thought I didn't care about him but I'm starting to choke up. Who is reading this? I'd like to know because I care. I'm sorry for all the times I've seemed callous my friends, I care more than I let on I just don't know how to show it in any other way than making you smile. Writing this down made me smile. It's made my day better. I hope your day is now better.