A young man watched the corner of the room, and there arose a small child, a goblin of some kind. And he knew well that only he could accomplish this beautiful feat, the story-telling of his life, the history that he had to be fully garner and apologize for, the closure that he had yet to acquire. He had to exchange so much of himself to guarantee anything, and anything produced could barely match up, no matter how much they grew him, to the reality of the situation, because even if they were necessary, beautiful, wonderful, and awesome, the reality was that he had to calm and stay sober throughout it all. Just as much as he had to be happy, he had to be present in the most vigilant way, because one second was enough to lose a grip and fall into the abyss of understanding, where knowledge is transformed into fuel for self-hate or some negative emotion. He had to maintain himself, guiding himself along the tight rope and preventing himself from flying too high or dashing his face against the rock below.