Dead dove do not eat

I have a brain full of random knowledge, a bunch of movies, books, all kinds of fictional stuff, tons of thoughts, plenty of theories and ideas, stories about other people living their lives and dealing with their shit, and lots of songs I've listened to. I feel like I've lived for more than a hundred years. I've lived in so many people's bodies and thought inside their heads, and I keep living this way. I don't know how long this will count, and I don't know why I'm saying all this. I was just thinking that if I weren't interested in this kind of living, I'd have no reason to keep going. But I'm not really satisfied with being alive, even though I can keep living because I'm alive. It's just a strange feeling.