Loneliness doesnโt exist on any single plane of consciousness. Itโs generally a low throb, barely audible, like the hum of a Mercedes engine in park, but every so often the demands of the highway call for a burst of acceleration, and the hum becomes a thunderous, elemental roar, and once again youโre reminded of what this babyโs carrying under the hood.
Jonathan TropperI loved her for the way she embraced the unknown, how she opened herself up to every experience. When I was with her, she opened me up, too, stirred my passion and heightened my every sensation. Which was great, until she left me and all my heightened senses to deal with the heartache of losing her.
Jonathan TropperSilver is forty-four years old, if you can believe it, out of shape, and depressedโalthough he doesnโt know if you call it depression when you have good reason to be; maybe then youโre simply sad, or lonely, or just painfully aware, on a daily basis, of all the things you can never get back.
Jonathan TropperShe was smart and funny and vulnerable and just so goddamned beautiful, the kind of beautiful that was worth being shot down over.
Jonathan Tropper