It’s actually worth living to have read you. Taking your dog back to the place, where you met him, respects his dreams. Your relationship with your ex corresponds with my own. And that pain and failure of what love seems to be makes me wonder about life. Are we just supposed to have relationships that we think about but cannot enjoy or keep? I move from one love to the next, but decades divide that joy. I am homeless in the meantime, but not from home, but from love. I miss my last great love and it’s “primary narcissism,” it’s “existential negativity,” and it’s “being and nothingness.”

It all seems futile now as age decides it’s memories and losses.