Why would you read me?

I wouldn’t read me.

So. much. Cringe!

Instead of championing the truth, I sought to milk emotions to the maximum.

The results are self evident, and this statement is redundant, and now I’m being self-referential.

Old habits die hard.

Aaaaaand now I’m doing clichés.

The point is, I wonder sometimes…why would you read me?

I’ve suffered from delusions of grandeur(although who suffers from their own delusions of grandeur? It’s the bystander who suffers, and hence the expression is flawed. One only suffers post his delusions of grandeur, not during or before) that I could be the best.
So to reiterate, why would you read me?

Do we share a connection?

 Perhaps an experience, a past or a memory?

Do we resonate, or have or might.

I’m not rhetorical, am not not asking why you should, but why you would.

Because the answer to that question will, in whatever inconsequential capacity it may be, bind us and make us a part of our shared universe.