I am so lonely that loneliness breaks apart and takes people with it in small scattered splinters. I see my life down the reverse track like a bullet looking back on the barrel that gave it birth. Yet alive, I contemplate the stupidity of love as parts of me die and are being eaten by the germs of time. I’ve never been anywhere and nowhere is where I’m destined to go, though now, in my final days or years, I accept the mystery of nothingness. As a kid, I used to smell flowers. I climbed trees. My knees were always hurting, covered in blood. I stole fruits across fences. I drove knives into fish I caught and I ate nothing but dreams. As a teenager, I wondered about love. I tasted it with beautiful women who never existed but in my mind. I was a writer of sorts. A speller of truth. A joker of destiny. I lived. And who are you?