Today I shall continue to manifest my complex subconscious process of death anxiety. By continuing to blatantly anthropomorphise you as my comforting presence.
To sporadically record my mundane activities until the day that I cease to be.
If I am writing to you my dear personified diary; I most certainly crave less, a witness.
Other than those inevitably haphazard and often anonymous readers, to pour over these words with remote curiosity at this singularly isolated existence.
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