I remember you telling me how no one is beyond saving, I recall laughing with your optimism, your idealism, the better life, the goodness in me. I was a cynic back then, hardly able to value the beauty of a simple, small act of goodwill to its full extent. Things were so easy back then. Three years later I am double than what I was and I apreciate far too many things to their full extent for my sake. And now I recall myself saying that no one is beyond salvation, or unworthy, or evil, but then I find myself so wanton... and vain. And in those moments, I keep telling myself that we must not choose self-absorption over solidarity and fellowship, that even if we are born and die alone, life is what matters, the inbetween, the action, the moments that infinity alone characterises them and infinity will be their fate.
But in the end, after every self-forced act of mutuality and goodwill (so that no one ever even glimpse upon the wretchedness of what is "I"), or the failed attempts we make to communicate, it is oneself that makes all the important decisions in one's life. It is alone that an individual must carry out the most difficult of challenges in one's life, and alone to live with the consequences of one's choices and actions. And that we must bear that is extremely difficult and heavy, heavier than our ego, our wantoness or our vanity. And in the end, it makes no matter. It is a circle, and you are forced by circumstance to experience it. You might as well apreciate it, to its full extent.