Because Tomorrow Beckons.
I have, by accident, chanced upon the most terrifying realisation that so many millions in the world would rather be in my place then where they are: I am not poor, not ugly, not an imbecile, not crippled- I am, in fact, living in outmost comfort, occasionally bathed in luxurious splendour, with food to eat, shoes on my feet, a bed to sleep on and a roof over my head. I am a published writer, and as far as I am concerned, I think I am successful, in where I'd like my life to lead.
And then, of course, there is the fallacy of existence: the idea that one would be happy forever and age with a given situation or series of accomplishements?
I'm scared my success will end when I close my eyes to sleep tonight.