I know you’re reading this

I’m not crazy ( well maybe but that’s neither here nor there) I know you’re reading this.  Peering over my words wondering what kind of guy calls himself Echo, and rants about such mindlessness. I know you’re looking it over as you go about your day, chuckling to yourself at how silly people can be.  But I don’t know you, at all. Are you here wondering what I’ll say next? Is this some big Echo mystery? What will he do? Who is he?  Potatoes!  Why did he say potatoes?  Are you here because you’re curious, or perhaps you’ve found my stories compelling.  Do you read these on the go on when your day starts to slow?  Do you read these all the time? Do you love when I start to rhyme?  I don’t, enough of that. Why are you here? Do you want to be my friend? Do I sound wise? Do I entertain you? Or maybe you’re here because I sound so crazy and you’re hoping I’ll blow my top or something?  Bad news there, that only happens to those fighting their madness I’m using mine. So I know you’re reading this, but please tell me why? 

Here’s a thing I bet most writers feel at one point or another. 



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