Kemosabe1

I love walking in the woods.  There my physical seclusion matches my emotional state.  Even my loneliness leaves me in the forest. With my rifle in my hands I trudge through the hills posessed.  Somehow I track, I listen, I hunt, but I'm not there.  I'm nowhere. Even at school, I'm nowhere.  The people around me, like me or hate me, don't care that I'm there.  My friends, God love them, they distract from the slow death I feel every day. That's the hell in being alone.  You can feel the age coming on.  You can feel the eventual and unavoidable death of the body