When did I ever know who I was? Something in me is sure that once I had some sense of it, that I belonged at least to myself, but the memory is more elusive than a dream I have just woken up from. Or is it only the vapor of childhood, dissipated, when I merely did not know how much I did not know? Am I even aware of how lost I am, or is that dread realization waiting to corner me, on the eve of some small happiness, crush me with its existentialism? I have no answers, or too many, all of them contradicting one another, and all just as plausible as the next. And I know that love is the answer, the ultimate meaning to it all, but the more it can save me, the farther away it is. I guess I’ll just keep on, keep on. Fate has a tendency to more squarely hit a moving target. There’s more to life, yet. And love… love, I swear revenge on you for giving me the strength!