Virtual No More

<a href="" target="_blank">Biscotti's</a> on hiatus. Another <a href="" target="_blank">friend</a> has quit blogging. It almost seems like an epidemic swept cyberland and only a few of us remain. Yet <a href="" target="_blank">DW's</a> questions are not without merit. Why do we speak, and do we waste too much effort in communicating, when our words are transient as chaff in the wind?
Once the initial novelty of having a domain and creating an experience accessible to the rest of the world wears thin, you find that you sit at your computer as alone as when you had first started. Perhaps I write for myself. I've been one to talk to myself for as long as I can remember. My words here are but a <a href="" target="_blank">lomograph</a> of life, a haphazard chronology of thoughts and things. Writing is the creation of a time capsule of sorts, something to look back upon, a mental motion picture of times past. Maybe one day we'll sit in a coffee house and watch reruns together.
Maybe writing here is a virtual realisation of my dreams of becoming a writer.
Or maybe like most, I write in order to communicate in the small hope that my words may lighten a few hearts and somehow make life's journey that much more bearable.
In some deep part of my heart, I hope to have accomplished the last. I know not if I've been succeeding thus far, or if anyone has even been reading, but I tread onwards with light feet and an even lighter heart, in the hope that maybe one of my million entries might.
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