There's not much to tell.
Various, amplifying ambitions.
I won't crack the surface of most.
Each oeuvre holds a piece of me in it.
Some may recognise that piece.
That's what writers do.
Leave some of them behind.
Hoping to never be forgotten.
They are mostly unaware of this.
I like to think myself knowledgeable.
But that's not true.
I let myself grow overly attached to fiction.
But I know that one day none of that will matter.
There was a beginning so there must be an end.
It's not as simple as it sounds.
Yet, I don't worry about it.
Sometimes I think it's better to not understand.
This has become a comfort for me.
May you find comfort in yourself