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2005-01-29 - 9:02 p.m. It�s an odd feeling, to feel completely alone. But I must say, reveal (since a diary is all about truth) that that is how I feel. The songs of angels play within my headphones, but I admit, I confuse their song with voices of extreme. What one hears as symphony, another hears as a call to home. Home? Do I have any idea what that is? No. And that may be the saddest, most pathetic of my mortal existence. They don�t, you know, come singularly. They come as a chorus. Do you have any idea of that? It�s not a voice; it�s a family of voices. Oh, to describe the tenderness, the safety, I am not equipped. I am left only to imagine their promise of comfort, since I have no assurance that is what is ahead. Your sweet face. Whose, I don�t know. But I imagine it to be, sweet, that is, waiting for me Long ago, I guess, I gave up asking why. Now I ask only; why not? When I summon them they resist, they are nowhere to be found, it seems they have completely (like all others) abandoned me. But if I listen quietly, well, even that is no guarantee. It is I that must be brave; I must be the one to take the first step. She said it was safer on the inside, and I didn�t believe her. A child�s na�vet�. Or a misbegotten hope? � � 
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