I reach out to you now because I feel you may be the one to understand this. I feel as if I have surrounded myself with strangers who were never cared for by myself and so do not care much for me. There are only so many times you can have the same conversations with the same people before you realise you can't anymore and that you are nearing the end of your rope. There are many flaws one can forgive oneself, such as laziness or greed or even deception, but the fatal flaw is to eternally want what you cannot have, ever.

I want to end the loneliness, but I find I cannot. I created it and I can end it, I argue. But, I argue back, it is the nature of the beast, made by the one who molded the beast. Soltitude, ingratitude, excessive attachment to this world and its goods, it is all the nature of me. I cannot change it, no more than I can change my own spirit.

Those I did not value have distanced themselves by now and those I valued care for themselves far too much to value me. This being said, I am reminded of the young boy who came to me everytime he felt alone and we whiled away the time alone together, our laughter drowning out the loneliness for a few hours. However, I drove him away, for I did feel I needed such a companion, but one who would speak of the moon and the stars and create new metaphors before my eyes. I wanted more that what I could have. I see these children worrying for the world and what is around them, and I want to be like them, but it is not my nature to prize that which is outside myself to what is inside myself.

The flies, I find myself envying them their peace of mind. They live for but one glorious flash in their own minds, one moment of hunger, lust, anger, joy and pain. A moment and it is all gone before they can reflect on it. To doom such a creature is to give it a mind, a spirit and then set before it boundaries that limit it's mind and its spirit. To this, add a near-century's worth of time to sit about and ponder its actions, struggle to define itself before it fades away. This is my plight. Now, as I sit alone in the semi-darkness, I suppress still the urge to throw open the door and fade into the night. They would never find me, nor any remains. Eventually, they would abandon the search and I would be left to the memory. Immortal, even as my remains rot in the gutters, I would run eternally in the minds and forbidden whispers of my grandchildren. They live on, whose bodies are never found, and I leave now to join them.

It shall be here that this barely sorry tale ends. In the state of mind that I posses, to call you a friend would be an insult to the generosity you show by hearing me out, stranger, and I thank you for it. They cannot be lost, who were never found.

Yours Sincerely.