I. Isolated
They say you're supposed to dream. Sooner or later, though, you always have to wake up.
If there was some source of cohesion, some fountain of stability, some—some beacon of hope that perhaps things would turn out right in the end, in spite of everything thrown at us, in spite of all our issues (and God knows we had a few of those), in spite of all the ominous signs—it had to be their love, for sure. Absolutely. Their love was, without a doubt, the glue that held everything together. It was what sustained our flimsy, erratic relationships, sad as that sounds. It was what carried us through every hellacious day on this dump of a planet. It wasn't me, and it sure as hell wasn't Jake. It was love, their love.
So once their love was gone—cut short in a very untimely manner by a cruel accident of fate—everything began to unravel. Once their love was gone . . . it changed everything. It marked the beginning of a nasty chain of misfortunes that hasn't stopped hitherto.
Some people would consider me to be rather fortunate; I alone avoided the worst of the fallout. But witnessing it all unfold before me, watching the people I love and care about fight each other and hurt each other and . . . and suffer . . . it's just as bad, if not worse. The experience is like helplessly watching someone slowly crumple and die in front of you. I wouldn't wish it on anyone. Nobody deserves to go through what I've been through, or what my family has been through.
Whose fault was it all? It depends on whom you ask. In my eyes, it wasn't anybody's fault. Nobody deserved what they got. It's a harsh world. Life's not fair, as the age-old saying goes.
. . . I really hate that saying.