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So he found himself again at a point in his life, where he felt violated and lonely. He had been there before, under different circumstances, lied to, mistreated and abused. He had been betrayed and left without a word and felt defiled for it. Of course, there was no physical abuse, it was rather a violation of the mind, the female of the species had their share in deteriorating humankind.
His every thought circled around not giving in to resignation or hatred and he wished he was blessed with the fatalism that so many of the characters in his favorite literature seem to wear like a coat of virtue. He wondered where fatalism might come from or how to achieve it, was it just something he had to wait for, find in himself once he reached a certain age. Without being religious, he knew about faith, hope and love and still believed in them, but there was no answer. The people in his books had meaningful conversations, matured through experience and exchange, whereas in reality nobody conversed about philosophy, he couldn't find a single soul to talk to. Real emotions of passion and affection could only be found in songs, poems and books. He decided to wait.


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