Why do I write?

I do not write for you,

for you will not read these words.

I do not write for them,

for they will not understand them.

So, by process of elimination,

I must be writing for me.

But why do I write for me?

There is no glory in it.
There's none to whom I can bare my heart.

Is it to make a memory to treasure?
To sketch the reflection of my soul?