This Writing, These Thoughts...

Sometimes I think I am nothing but my words, written or read, or at least half of my self, without which. Words are my only extension, my only connection, my only attachment to this world. Of course, there are always the symbolic gestures, the shadows or the images in the mind. In other words, we only live vaguely, we can't live in the "real" world. It would be too much to bear. At times, waking up in the middle of the night, I would think of my passing. The world, or my world, my consciousness, would cease to exist. And I would bite my lips to stopper the flow of thoughts, till they dissipate in the dark. Only in such moments, I live in the "real" world. All the other things we experience are all illusions. Including this writing, these thoughts...