In a little while from now, if I'm not feeling any less sour, I promise myself to treat myself and visit a nearby town. And climbing to the top will throw myself off in an effort to make it clear to everyone what it's like when you're shattered, left standing in the lurch at a church, where people sing, my God, that stuff, she stood him up, no point in us remaining. We may as well go home, as I did on my own, alone again, naturally, to think that on yesterday I was cheerful, bright and gay, looking forward to, well who wouldn't do, the role I was about to play. But as if to knock me down, reality came around, and without so much as a mere touch, cut me into little pieces, leaving me to doubt, talk about God and his mercy, if he really does exist, why did he desert me, in my hour of need, I truly am indeed, alone again, naturally. It seems to me that there are parts broken in the world that can't be mended, left unattended, what do we do, what do we do. Looking back over the years, and whatever else that appears, I remember I cried when my father died, never wishing to hide the tears, and at sixty-five years old, my mother God rest her soul, couldn't understand why the only man she had ever loved had been taken, leaving her to start with a heart so badly broken, despite encouragement from me, no words were ever spoken, when she passed away, I cried and cried all day, alone again, naturally. Alone again, naturally.