It seems to me sometimes that each of us is ultimately alone in the world. We may have friends, close friends and partners. But there comes a point when they have somewhere else to go, someone else to be with, some other life to attend to. Or because of differences in gender, life experience, personality type, they cannot feel what we feel, know what we know; sympathy and love might be unlimited but empathy cannot be.
So, each of us has to deal with our fears and pains, celebrate our joys and achievements. And we have to do it on our own. Our loved ones might support us, offer understanding, advice, sustenance. Or they might try to bring us down. But, ultimately, beyond all that, it's a very private thing. We succeed or fail on our own. And we do it for only ourselves.
Sometimes this strikes me as a very bleak thing.
Perhaps I'm wrong. Perhaps I'm just the idealist, the romantic, the cynic who secretly expected something better from life and, when he found it really wasn't so perfect as he'd hoped, lost some faith.
5:59:14 PM 
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