...Who am I really?
This question of which I could not get an answer despite an incalculable number of sleepless nights.
Am I really the person in front of my mirror, the same one who is writing to you day after day, where am I someone else?
...Can I really claim to be someone, when all of our world, our reality is only the observation and definition of our own being?
Can not I model this reality as I please?
To no longer suffer, no longer be alone in my own mind.
...Nobody chooses to be born, just as no one decides to leave reality that one has built without any answers.
Can we claim to be happy in this case?
To see the world evolving so spookily that we can question existential laws, but still have no satisfactory answer to our own existence.
...Tell me, I really exist?
I'm afraid not to exist, to be alone in this eternal cold of this senseless existence.
To never know the real happiness of having these answers.
...But tell me whoever reads me, do you really exist?
...I faint again in existence~