Think upon, if you dare, dear reader, to the love that generates itself from a man, so that it runs itself from East to West. From a beginning to an ending; and that ending, of which we speak now is the most important aspect, is where loss is current. Loss is the now, the moment, and the place where a man finds himself nestled with a noose, and perhaps a singular strand of hair from his beloved, wherever she has fled.
“I am before her,” says a man, of truest intention, and never the slightest hint of doubt, “To give myself everything that I have never believed in to have an existence, in my swollen heart of misery.” For a man, of that truest intention, has nothing left to lose, when he has all to give.
Though, in description of that rock, that stone, remaining before Joseph, seemingly with eyes of its own, bleeds a faint shadow onto the gravel beneath it.
Soon, a tear drains from his reddening eye, and marks a new path over his left cheek. It is a desolate tear, one that screams of loneliness. It is a one that finds itself a wind that makes it move to the left of his face. It moves steadily, and then, grabbed by the wind, that tear flies into the wall of some unknown building.
Then after, a colossal hail of tears is swimming their little paths down into his partially opened mouth. As sadness encases him in bold ripeness, he finds family with his new choice, and that choice is a simple one: to round himself, and begin to walk in the opposite direction, towards the woman who he abandoned.