I've found the world has a habit of providing you with the most wonderful things during the times you are most alone.  It is rather cruel that way.  As I sit with the blade, so ready to give up, the bonds that tie me to earth just grow so much stronger.  When everything starts to fall apart the fog clears for just long enough to remind me of the things I would miss.  I am stuck in one point so that I no longer exist in this world or any other, rather, I live alone in the wonders and the fears of my own mind.  I always ask, "What is my reason for existing?" And I always come up blank.  But there is too much love over here and it stops me from pulling the trigger.