Some may wonder and fewer will actually ask, 'Arthur, how would you describe this man, this Alfred F. Jones...?'

Of course, I would just shake my head and chuckle.

See, Alfred can't be described. Vocabulary was never his strong suit, and in return, he (his light, his stubbornness, his hope, his one-of-a-kind 'heroic' catchphrases) cannot be fully woven by words.

Yet here I am, attempting to do very that in vain. Desperately stumbling through my cluttered mind, shaking off the dust on him, my cowardice, and our lost dreams. No polishing will be done, because you (I) deserve nothing but harsh reality of my youth.

In the past I was unable to recognize that my observant nature was my greatest strength, yet it still brought my downfall.

By the time I die, (although I hope that'll be decades from now, a small part of me wishes it would occur sooner) I'm sure that my purpose in life will have been completed; To be an example, a widely-known failure, a siren for those who never take action with their dreams in order to fulfill their destinies.

For now I am left empty because I could not complete my simple role of saying 'hello' to (who I believe is) my soulmate.

Fate is so generous to weave us out a path of wonder in our short, boring lives. If one does not follow that attractive road, and instead drunkly stumbles to the winding crossroads of mystery and misery, who do they have to blame but themselves?

I beg of you Journal, and whoever eyes may one day (the day I die) pry upon this crimson notebook and these tattered pages, to not judge me. I am a broken soul, I can heavily assure you that I need no more cracks (except maybe one to my head).

The only thought that keeps my soul from abandoning my dreams is encountering Al again. I know that the sun will be beaming, the stars will twinkle with delight, and the moon will glow with a passion almost equivalent to mine on that fateful day where we'll meet again.

But for now, I have some unfortunately dire duties to complete before I can arrange a date for that.

So my dear Journal, and future gazes, please keep this story I'm about to share in the deepest chambers of your heart, for I know for a fact that some of you will place at least some value upon my eerie tale, while others will desperately attempt to wipe their minds in order to forget the truth.

Do not be ashamed if you want to rewind time so that you may never lay your thoughts upon this journal, this horrendous story, for I, for many years did the same.

All I wish is that your darkest hours will be more hopeful than my brightest.