What will remain of me, after I pass away? Nothing. Or just all those shreds, I left on the table in my room. Who will even look at them? There is nothing I did right to the... Well, yes, there is nothing I did right, what a bad point.

There is a notesheet on my table. It is half-filled with something. Something stuck in my head. Something, I want to write down, but I never have time for this. Or I just think so. Since there is defenitely time for everything.

There is a project on my github. There is nothing. It is just as empty, as everything else I want to create.

And there is that notebook. A higly personal notebook of mine, which never had thoughts of mine. Still, one or two skethes of alghorithms, some devices and even some top-secret math of mine (just one or two lines, but that's something). But nothing, someone else than me will understand. Useless for the world.

And there are my friends. No one of them knows me as I am. Well, they think they do. I know they don't. They, yet, know all my plans, all my dreams, wishes, and even know of some of those shreds, I mentioned. But noone knows why.

So there is maybe one man, who would know why, but he doesn't know anything else.

Now the only question I ask myself, is will I follow that why and start being myself... ever?