My heart is empty. There once was a place inside me where gentleness and love resided and an internal peace held me a float. Somewhere along my path, it died and I can no longer get it back. It is a miserable life when you know that you do not love and are unable to. The power to relate to your brethren is lost and you do not feel an ounce of remorse. When you care for, sympathize with but do not love, the seed of basic human existence has ceased to develop. The flower that is life is slowly but surely withering away. The mere thought of spending time amongst the company of friends, enemies or anything with the vague semblance of a pulse is utterly revolting. I know now what I have become, a self-prophesying and self-glorifying recluse. The seed of love cannot grow within me anymore. I am scattered like pollen in the wind, having no place to nestle. I knew the feeling of love once. I held it in my hand. Funny thing is I know when and where I last saw it.
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