Are you really “all alone”?
Did you really have nothing to say? All those times when you covered up your thoughts with noise?
Did you really have nothing to etch that would outlive your grandchildren’s children?
Were there really no beliefs that needed reassessing?
No mental corners to be cleared of cobwebs?
No memories to be relived?
No thoughts, scratching at the side of your brain, desperate to be hunk?
No pending, vital connections?
Is there really nothing you can CREATE for the world? For you? For others? For your name?
Could you not, for once, use your limbs and brain for something permeant, rather than transient?
Are there really no questions you have that you can figure out for yourself?
Are there really no cloudlike principles to formalise?
Are there really no oaths to forge? No contracts for yourself?
Are there really no forbidden conversations for you to draft?
Are you really all alone?