Inquisitive

What do you do?

I paint.

Interesting; I dabbled in it, was never really good at it, though.

I drink.

Ah, took part in that myself at one point, pulled away- not sure if that was a good thing or not.

I have a family to take care of.

Yes, they certainly do wile away the time, don't they?  Had one myself once, for a little while.

I meditate.

Tried that one too, didn't like the thoughts that swirled in the void of my head.  A little scary, even for me.

What do you do?

Hey, I'm the one asking the questions here.  Thank you.

But, since you asked, I write.

Why?

I really don't know; because if I didn't I would go crazy.

Wondering where I went wrong, what I could have done different,

Wondering if this is what fate had in store for me all along, or I just took the wrong path,

Because I need something-something to fill that dreadful space between

The present, whatever time it is now, and the moment I cease to be.

So, I write.

Aren't you afraid of time passing you by?

No more questions, damn you.

Tell that to yourself; we're the same person.

No we're not.

Not anymore.