In light of stories, time and again, experience time and again, people running, I just don’t see how there is anyone on this earth that would want to be with me. Family members stay perhaps out of an empathetic guilt, but otherwise too, I feel they might run. Why wouldn’t they? I am burden more than anything else. I am a burden more than anything else. All this good I try to be, all this good I want to be; it feels sometimes so worthless nonetheless. I want to be so good so that somebody would want me, but really, maybe I should let go of my ego and accept that nobody will in the end. At least in the significant sort of way. I don’t know what to do without hope, but I can’t figure how I can hope in these circumstances. When my experience has taught me nothing other, how can I hope in the face of dismal darkness?