I try to tell you, but it won't come out...

Me slišiš? Si še tam?

Sometimes the best and worst times of your life can coincide. It is a talent of the soul to discover the joy in pain - thinking of moments you long for, and knowing you’ll never have them again. The beautiful ghosts of our past haunt us, and yet we still can’t decide if the pain they caused out-weighs the tender moments when they touched our soul. This is the irony of love. This is the bane of his existence. Always finding a way to balance the scales. If things go too well, a way to make himself less of a man, if they go too poorly, a way to make himself more whole. He is nowhere near complete, nowhere near the man he knows he can be, so every new stumble hurts more than it should. He is disappointed, for he should be vastly more stable and sound, yet he is enveloped by fear and doubt, making him feel alone. So fucking alone.