I have dipped my quill in the inkwell of vulnerability. I have written honestly, openly. Yet, I am under the attack of unscrupulous anons.

My unsurety was wrapped in insecurity, indecisiveness blanketed in disorder, and authenticity as affirmation-hunger.

My points were completely overlooked. I will try to explain once more, not out of need to be validated, but out of mercy for those who simply fail to understand.

"I must catch up: I need to read, to absorb..." I wrote.

Reading doesn't just mean dilating the pupils over the small black shapes. It doesn't even mean shaping those forms into words or sentences.

Reading demands comprehension. Perception. Assimilation. Retention.

"I must catch up: I need... to respond." I wrote.

Respond doesn't mean to type the first thing that comes to mind.

Respond means neither compliment nor insult, neither validation nor dismissal.

Respond means to react to the idea, not the author. To the writing, not the writer.

This exactly is what I came to disavow. The shallowness of the readers, the incompetence of the writers here.

And sadly, painfully, my point was only proven.

But I remain here, faithfully because I need no applause, constantly because I take no affront.

I await the day fresh fodder and superior scribbles will reign.

In the service of words,

The Cobbler