What's the Point?

What's the point of a blog that no one's reading? And what's the point of a life that no one's loving? What's the point of brushing your teeth when you know you're going to chew gum to keep the bad breath away? What's the point of a guitar if you know you're never playing? What's the point of crying if you know it doesn't make it better? And what's the point of all those books on the shelf that I know I'll never open? Is just knowing that those things are there enough? Or to truly be useful do they need to be used? For my life to be lived, must I truly be loved?