I always felt like I stood on the broken edge of a curb, balancing there, in front of me a playground full of children, running, screaming, playing in the sun. I wanted so badly to join them, to run alongside and laugh with them. I would watch them a while, through a tall chain link fence. And then I would look over my shoulder, into a colder world, a world in which every moment was constructed for survival. Stepping back off that curb meant stepping out of the sun, where loneliness and trepidation flowed like thickly tainted storm water, carrying with it hopes and dreams into an even darker place where they would forever appear just out of reach.
This led to a profound feeling of isolation as I grew older, even and more so when I was among others, especially in larger crowds, like being afraid of the water and being lost at sea. Then as an adult, it festered into a deep seeded sadness for that young boy, for when he still held out hope that somewhere there was a place for him, someplace warm where he didn’t feel like such a stranger, even to himself.