The clouded mirror and the illusion of unmarked paths. The vague undertakings and shadowed ambition. Perhaps these pseudonyms take part in the one named I. Perhaps I am eager to speak your language, inflection and introspection . These mirages of my future inclinations are all encompassing and are eager to stear me in the wrong mortality. My soul seems to spread through these codes, these morse code actions upon my keys. Often I wish to have grown when you did, to write in the isolation of my room rather than the isolation of my mind. Without context the obsolete may remain at that, the biographers and stenographers over shadowed by the actors that were once cast in my lifes dialogue.
What is my purpose?
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