My soul seemed as foul as smoke from burning cat hair. ~Kurt Vonnegut
Evidence is mounting that my soul is a putrid cesspool whose stench drives people away destroying any phatic spackle that once created community.
I am destined to be a community of one, a lone soul seeking meaning in solitude, ever searching for connection with a self I increasingly fail to understand. The face in the mirror is becoming less familiar, less comforting, less a suitable companion for myself or anyone else.
Physical union disappears dragging any remaining emotional threads into the abyss leaving me balanced on the edge trying to dredge meaning from blackness, love from death, life from sorrow, light while dwelling on the dark side of a Jupiter moon.
Do I dig through to the center and exit the other side of the moon or trudge decades east or west seeking the glowing edge all the time knowing the light with the power to purify my weary soul will never be found?