I have written it with trepidation. It will cause some readers pain. I do not find my candor, its realism greatly reassuring. I apologise to my readers and most of all my family for the harm it may cause.
People can go around thinking, wondering, planning, worrying and surmising, but unless they work at becoming effective communicators, it will be them alone with their thoughts. I hope this story inspires young men to communicate on a deeper level and feel proud in doing so.
Simply it is about a single male’s world. Its validity is subjective. This doesn’t matter, it’s not the point. What the story aims to demonstrate on a deeper level – in real-life prose – is how a regular man, succumbing to innate desires and self-indulgence, can almost totally destroy himself. However, by retaining one spark of feeling, the feeling of human love, such a man can be brought back to live a fulfilling life.
The moment could have got lost. But it hasn’t. I reclaimed it. The story didn’t die. It is a picture already complete. Never forgotten.
Old men forget.
I haven’t. I won’t.
I will never leave this moment behind.