Letters for Burning

Most of my problems seem to continuously revolve around having nothing to say to people, which I suppose is the worst kind of irony for a writer. I love listening and observing, but I just can’t seem to do conversation anymore because it requires talking about yourself and I just don’t want to. I think this is why I’ve isolated myself. I feel like I’ve talked about myself quite enough and there won’t be any new developments anyway. And when there are things to talk about, I get the feeling that the things I’m really excited about are things no one really wants to hear.

Drifting apart is a problem. I place a lot of distance between myself and other people, for whatever reason. Maybe it just happens, always will, inevitably. I don’t know. I read books because I want more empathy and understanding, and I write to remind myself that true empathy and understanding is impossible. I want to become characters so I can really know what it’s like to be someone else.