I do not know if it is just the cold, howling wind, or if it is the fact that this is the fourth Thanksgiving I have spent alone in the most fundamental sense, away from my family and my dearest friends, if it is the fact that I have found myself suddenly with all this free time to ponder the state of my life, and finding it wanting in some respects.

In the end, you are ultimately alone. I cling to this truism, but it makes the emptiness no less. And yet am I just yearning for what I do not have? Can I not find happiness in and of myself?

What is it in me that yearns for a sweet, soft voice on the other end of the phone line? Someone to listen, but more importantly, someone who cares. As I've said once before, someone who has a stake in what I have to say. And in return, someone to tell me all her dreams and plans, someone who is willing to seek comfort in me, to find solace in my mere existence.

My words again fail, I cannot capture this yearning, cannot put a name to it, cannot enscribe it onto a piece of paper. Neither can I hold it it. I cannot put a rein on it, cannot keep it in check. If I do not stay on my guard, it will wrack me with unrelenting grief, and yet can I really long for something that I do not understand?

Times like this, I wonder if it would save me to just give up hope entirely, to simply accept my desolation, and to face my reality bravely. I already know that my path will take me down dark and twisted roads where few have dared to tread, and I will have to take whatever little consolation I can get.