[ once, he may have believed it. when he was younger and the grief had reached its crescendo. when the betrayal and hurt had coalesced into a single blade aimed true at his heart. sobbing on the floor on the mark where his father once stood. with his mother's portrait looking down on the wall.

but. that was a long time ago. ]

Nothing is just that. Nothing. It allows no light, no fragment of hope. You would be empty of meaning.

How could it ever amount to happiness?