Through the silence of the thousand thousand landscapes of my mind, a voice calls out, "Why hast thou forsaken me?" It is my voice, but it is also the voice of every journey not taken, every task left unfinished, every lost opportunity. It is the voice of a small, scared little boy who recoils in horror at the sight of the man he has become. I want to comfort him, but he is beyond my reach, and I could not bring myself to meet his eyes if I could find him. The hurt in those eyes is mine, but I cannot bear it. The disappointment in those eyes are also mine, and I can bear it no better. The child in my heart of hearts is wounded. Scarred and torn, he can only cry out, and I can only listen.