Prologue

Whats it really mean to belong?...

To those of you that your strings are about to break, I thank you for holding on as long as you did. I thank you that never did what you had too. I realize that the world is a confusing place. I don’t understand it fully either. Each and everyday, waking. Going through the motions. It's hard to face the things that can hurt us the same but not as much as before. I'm just a guy. Maybe a dream that can be achieved. In a Little booklet that I found in the corner of the coffee shop told me a truth. " Courage sometimes isn't the Roar of a lion, sometimes it’s the small voice inside that says 'I will try again tomorrow" Maybe that’s true. Man do I hope that No matter the cost, that the ends would justify the means. The dismal November nights that couldn't be held in a bottle cause they would explode with golden happiness.

Maybe it was time. I'm just a boy. I just have a name. it is Alliston. I have a home. It is Jackson of the Midwest. . Maybe knowing where I am is the first step to knowing where I am going. I guess I found out that I can't walk far enough away from the world to escape the past that haunts me dearly. I cant just not stop wiping the tears off my face. Let the clear drips of pain just fall. I just can't escape the feeling that the entropy of the universe, the disparity of life, the train heading my way.. Is the product of who I am. Maybe Im just overstating the obvious. Creating a corrupt world where I can scapegoat the things that pain me most. So things can start to make sense again.

Oh God, do I want things to just make sense again. I sleep at night and reminisce like everyone. Remembering is just as bad as forgetting the part of myself I never really knew in the first place. I've been told that I think to much. I get too ahead of myself. Perhaps they are right. I may be a little too introspective.In retrospect, I know that I did something good. A glimmer of hope in my heart. I can't change things that happened. It's not my job. It's not in my power. So those of you that are still holding on by your last strings. I am still here. I've tried to cut it and so have others. The verge of having it snap made me realize the beauty in it. I can ponder of the chasm of self pity or doubt the inner workings of my life but when I fall. That string still held. When I hid in the closet of my Cousin John's, the beam was still there. The substantial change in hopelessness to powerful urges of gumption. Over that fault. The deep dark oblivion where I could fall. Black over black over black. Deep as my mind could imagine and as wide as my heart could bare to feel. The string still held.I did not realize is that string had always been a rope. From the chasm more I realized that that rope had been a a chain. Taking a breathe and stepping even further. Warmth with the happiness of glee I took more steps. This is the time I dared look back. The time the chain brought me back. I saw that that chain had been a hand. The hand of the loving. The ones that never gave up on me. It just hurts to imagine what they thought of me. How strong, how pitiful, how lost my soul had gotten. Endlessly into the past. Kindness of altruism. May angels lead you in. That hand of love. I know who they are. Over that chasm I almost fell. My heart didn't shatter. There was hope. I let go of her hand.This is the story I want to tell. I hope for her that my string held this time.