Life seemed to open up (I could see it) into a senseless vacuum of existence and it clung to the depths of what might be simply known as loneliness... I had, of course, a family behind me and friends that were like family, but neither contingency held the fire, the flicker or the grate against the stone that would ignite a clear representation of worth and a purpose of substantial context. If there had been someone that spoke my language, to reverberate my thoughts and purge my feelings, feelings wholly undiluted and fine well, that would’ve been something... To avoid, to just maneuver oneself in order to miss the blow that had been the strategy to dodge any pain, which in the long run (I now see) was counterproductive to life and love and the eternal glow of nostalgia.
