Incoherent mutterings of lost soul

I have always have had this strange belief that one day by some improbable chance by some fluke of destiny i will be asked the question "who wrote tragical history of doctor faustus?" and whilw rest of the world looked foolishly i would proudly stand up and answer "Elementary sir, why of course Christopher Marlowe." When i was in college i begged to destiny to let there be a question related to novels i had read to be present in the exam which was on the next day for 50 marks. Just once,please let me get what i want. But alas,destiny aint a fan of mine as is obvious. I wonder has reading books ever done me a favor. Wouldn't it have been better if i had rather been a sportsperson. Females dig them, it gets you scholarships into colleges, you stay fit and it has mannish feel about it. On the other hand reading books is cowards profession. Exuding emotions depending on the authors dreams,how weak is that. TO be fed on someone else's experiences, to be forever dependent on someone else's appreciation to judge yourself.What has reading books given me? But then i read books because i like them, because i understand them, because they are far more true to me than mortals. They say books help you discern humanity but doesn't playing on the field with 10 other men help u comprehend humanity better. Maybe i am a midnight rambler. Don't read this rather punch a wall, the physical pain is far more true and pure than any emotions that can be written about.

Every human has a second person inside of him, someone to whom he can tell all their secrets. Some people even have 3 such personalities, but the real problem arises when these inner beings start sharing their secrets with you.

I am a very adept liar, in fact i lie so well that i myself start believing in them. Maybe the preceding statement was such a lie.

Humans have a inherent weakness for losers. we always relate to the jovial loser.In fact if truth be told devil has far more fans than God shall ever have. For we have far more experience of losing than of winning. We know what it feels like to be on the other side. To be chided by the winning party. The fierce wish to disappear from the scene if we have lost an event. To smile when all you felt was hatred for the winner, to be disgusted when the winner acted modest and tried to congratulate you with all the condescending acts he could garner. to be repulsed when the winner shouted out jovially to celebrate his victory. We all want to be winners but obviously we cant forget what we really are.

Sometimes when i talk to my third self, i ask it "why do you write? You believe what you write in.Why does the world need to know? Why waste time to convert your multiple thoughts into black and white text. To bind those free flowing thoughts, these rivulets of dreams with the chains of grammar and prose." My inner self blushed and says "To remind the world that you exist."