From the depths of despair

Love is perhaps the only pain that one holds on to dearly. What must it feel like to be loved. He wouldn't really know. He thought he was loved but he was not. All his life unrequited love. Endless and unrequited. He has sought temptations of the flesh outside but left unsatisfied. Now he hold on to this pain like a mother holds on to her new-born, like the drowning man to the twig - both knowing that what they hold on to will eventually leave them in more agony. But they are all helpless. This is the life they are destined to lead - the life he is destined to lead. A life in solitude and no love returned. Never to experience touch, never to experience the embrace that means "hold on to me, and stop the night - stop the sun from rising". There will be sunrises and sunsets. Several sunrises and several sunsets. His life will continue turning like the cogs of time with no stopping until each cog rusts and gives in. And that is the end. Where no one remembers the cogs. He is just replaced in this world after a nameless death.