i think you’re a well-regarded writer hiding behind a pseudonym.
i think you’re afraid of social interaction, in spite of the people you surround yourself with.
i think you are over-dramatic. (as we all are at times, sympathy being the balm of the emotionally impoverished.)
i think you have a hard time seeing the real you.
i think it doesn’t matter what i think.
i think you think i’m presumptuous for even thinking these things of you and you and you and you.
i think i’ll stop now.