There is a ghost here. A lonely, heartbroken spirit. The ghost of everything that could've been and never was.

Happiness was useless to me. It was heartache that filled my purse. What happy man has need of Shakespeare?

We're not punished for our sins, lad. We're punished by them.

Because just for a few seconds, someone else hurts, too. For just a few seconds, I'm not alone.

For the first time in a long time, he didn't think of the past. And of all the things he'd lost. He thought only of the present, and what he had. And how it was so much more than he deserved. And he prayed then that he would never, ever lose it.

The guitar's still around me. I slip it off and put it down. I want to feel him. To feel his breath on my neck. The warmth of his skin. To feel something other than sadness. Hold me, I tell him silently. Hold me here. To this place. This life. Make me want you. Want this. Want something. Please

Come on you raver, you seer of visions, come on you painter, you piper, you prisoner, and shine.