The Duality Of Self

I don't know what I will write about actually. I believe this will be a stream of consciousness. I can think of nothing, I may repeat the same sentences over and over again. I mean, what's the point of this or anything? Why do we write, why do we read, why do we even do anything when eventually the result is just nothing. Feeling nothing, seeing nothing, smelling nothing. Maybe I am already there in that nothingness, that's why I feel, well, nothing. I am a shell, a tough one but the inside is empty. No one will read this, even if they do, it means nothing.
I will probably regret writing this and write another piece based on how i love being a humanbeing just going on her day. See, I already felt the warmth of being a human.

I wanted to finish the piece here but it needed more words, which composed this sentence.