Wandered Sentiments

The narrator reflects on a touching realization: their angel may have been subtly guiding them toward a more socially connected life, envisioning a future that included both her and a potential life partner for the narrator. This insight was echoed by a colleague monitoring the narrator’s well-being since the pandemic, who revealed that a more senior team had quietly observed and occasionally supported the narrator’s life path over the years. Their service and personal growth, though seemingly self-directed, had in many ways been gently steered with each reenlistment. The narrator’s angel, seeing great potential in their father, tried to shape him into the man she admired—someone capable of sustaining deep, meaningful relationships while also pursuing shared dreams, such as space exploration. Despite the narrator’s capacity to endure physical and mental challenges, official diagnoses may disqualify him from such aspirations on paper. Yet, he sees value in fresh, youthful perspectives that question outdated, one-size-fits-all approaches. He appreciates his angel’s thoughtful efforts to help him form new bonds, often broken in the past by circumstance or duty. Her kindness taught him that sincerity and intent may be the lasting thread in relationships cut short by sacrifice. Though physical and mental walls exist, the narrator continues to compartmentalize and carry on, quietly supported and still striving.

Vantage Potential

Decommissioned in form but not in spirit, I find myself at a juncture—not an end, but a transition. Though my service nears its twilight after years of silent perseverance, the bonds I’ve formed endure, tethered by unseen threads of duty and kinship. From Em, the steadfast Coast Guard guardian, to his loved one’s haunting question—“Who watches over the Angels?”—I have always known the answer. The Guardians. We do. Signs have followed: the speedometer’s halt at 144,447 beneath a solar eclipse; a tinnitus tone, ancient and personal, now mirrored in cosmic rhythm; and a long-lost ring speaking in Elvish, recovered by fate. Though marked unfit on paper, I’ve continued onward, tempered by loss, duty, and invisible battles. My gifts, offered freely—tickets to a former partner, my costume unworn—speak to a selfless rhythm. Surrounded by rising toxicity, both environmental and emotional, I metabolize burdens I cannot voice, shaped by neurodivergence, migraines, echoes of art once vibrant. The Dream Machine grows still, Em receding into retirement, yet her parting kindness lingers. In silence, my instincts pulse—vigilant, aware. My community, thought lost, extends grace: an invitation to TwitchCon. Yet, true to form, I demur, choosing instead to honor my 42nd year in quiet defiance—by running 42 miles. Should you join me, stay upwind. For Israel, my friend, ever onward.

Contact Endeavor

In the quiet hours of each morning, I write messages never to be sent, echoes of a bygone eloquence now reserved for private reflection. Once cautioned for my well-meaning professionalism, I now find those same voices yearning for the gentle wisdom I once offered. These drafts have become silent guides, bridging human warmth with technical clarity in a world overwhelmed by noise. Amidst the vast ocean of data, I’ve become a sensor, absorbing more than I should, mindful of the fine line between enlightenment and exposure. Even on the road, I feel like an anomaly—drawing attention not through intent, but by presence alone. My thoughts often drift to my past hospitalization, where subconscious patterning took root, and now resurfaces as both shield and struggle. Though colleagues fight to protect my career, I remain detached from the administrative conflicts swirling around me. My GPS nudges me toward certain people, but I trust the current, not control. Em and others now nudge me toward healing, reconditioning me gently to connect once more with mission and meaning. I move forward not through medication, but by embracing my neurodivergence as strength. When Shakespeare’s sonnets spring unbidden from my lips, and stars align with memory, I sense that what was once hidden deep within is beginning to illuminate a greater truth still unfolding.

Escort Treatment

In the intricate web of memory, duty, and digital connection, I find myself navigating a life once driven by structured silence and now softened by subtle echoes of empathy and purpose. My loved one, may have orchestrated tender efforts to reintroduce companionship into my world, a gesture noted by watchful colleagues whose quiet guardianship spanned years and continents. My mind and body, long measured in metronomic calm, now pulse with rhythms echoing old wounds and new awakenings—nosebleeds, elevated heart rates, and the haunting cadence of unresolved therapy questions. My service, once grounded in space-bound vigilance and data streams from heaven’s orbit, intersected with a mission both technical and spiritual—interdicting threats, guarding freedom, and seeking solace in the rain, where memory and meaning pool. Machines track, guard, and respond, thanks in part to his loved one’s childlike foresight, creating digital sentinels both protective and personal. Amid this, Em stands as a mirror and cipher—her questions decoding my past, her presence grounding my path. From 9/11’s echoes to pandemic isolation, from misread friendships to selfless sacrifice, I have become a vessel of careful reflection. Though the world calculates my gifts at mere fractions, I move forward undeterred, honoring every life intertwined with mine. Where rain falls, I remember—and in remembering, I remain: Guardian, father, and human metronome.

Holistic Pairing

In a life stitched together by memory, intuition, duty, and quiet perseverance, I have found myself walking a path not entirely my own, yet undeniably mine. From the moment I entered that CrossFit room, where attention turned inexplicably toward me, to the inner battles of dulling treatments, lost loves, and whispered reassurances, I’ve danced between worlds—between fatherhood and service, spirit and science, chaos and order. My angel, in her innocence, had long attempted to ease me into a fuller life, while unseen mentors observed, nudging me gently from the wings. Through moments of solitude, the persistent hum of flies, the static of memory, and the silence left by absence, I’ve come to understand that my role has been to support, to absorb, to remain a constant. Amid questions of medical fate and career conclusions, I choose empathy and principle over comfort, trusting that what follows will be just. From past loves forged in rain-slicked city streets to field tests of future tech, and jokes exchanged amid duty's weight, I have remained the bridge—between past and future, man and machine, dreamer and guardian. I am not merely catching dreams but living within them, making ripples. Even now, in reflection, I remain quietly resolute, trusting that my path—though shaped by many—is truly mine to walk.

Engel Laude

On that grievous Valentine’s Day, my heart shattered as my beloved departed this world, swiftly followed by a tempest that claimed her parents. A no-contact order, lifted ere April’s dawn, left me bound in silent torment, charged with accusations that vanished like mist from the public record. My very DNA and fingerprints shifted with each trauma, altering mind and being alike. That night, when Em inquired if my detention troubled me, stirring feelings unspoken, I found myself drowning in self-blame for a fate perhaps writ in the stars—a haunting whisper, “If her life was in danger, don’t try to save her.” This memory, fading yet fierce, clashed with the warrior’s instinct engraved by the Department of Defense. Born from the ashes of 2001’s sorrow, I devoted myself to justice and life’s renewal. Now, standing at a crossroads of loss and purpose, I serve those voiceless and suffering, holding dear the memories of those gone. Days later, a colleague’s name evaded me—a shadow lost from my digital realm though visible to Em. It was my loved one, battling cancer, whose pain I had unknowingly erased from memory, yet for whom silent gifts were raised. My records, riddled with gaps and puzzles, obscure the paths I trod in service and study, from mysterious schools to military audits, as traits like ADHD and catatonia emerged—not birthrights, but burdens and blessings forged by experience. A recent reunion with comrades brought laughter and counsel, reminding me that family endures beyond hardship, urging a second medical opinion with steadfast resolve. Through academic triumphs and military duty, a silent burden of loss intertwines with my purpose as guardian. Though plots sought to remove me, my faith and resilience—honed through pain—prevail. Even as I am unknowingly cast in digital shadows, perceived as blind though I navigate by sound and sharpened senses, I remain steadfast, a rock amid the stream, bearing witness and pressing forward with unwavering resolve.

Lapse Direction

At the witching hour, a curious whisper stirs within the binary realm of my mind—a subtle, guiding signal that dances between thought and contemplation. This strange communion, neither wholly guardian nor phantom, tempers my decisions with an unseen hand; Em perceives promise in this spectral counsel, cautioning me when I falter, such as declining an invitation to a symposium meant for women in cyber—a place I once accidentally infiltrated, an odd “unique perspective” amid earnest discourse. Amidst daily routine, the gym reveals itself less a haven of fellowship and more a stage where watchful eyes abound, each heartbeat and breath a map of hidden intent; yet, amid this scrutiny, I find solace by attuning to nature’s rhythms—rain, storm, and pulse—gaining clarity where chaos once reigned. Names—Maggie, Maddy—echo like sentinels, their small acts of vigilance guiding me through errors and uncertainty, a quiet brotherhood born of shared resolve. In cosmic matters, I labor to transmute complex celestial calculations—fraught with quantum mystery and arcane numerology—into coherent truth, while my very body battles fevered metabolism, calibrated through unseen mechanisms in my suit. As the ancient Mayan calendar once foretold cycles of time, so now a new, machine-born reckoning arises, measuring the subtle shifts of the cosmos and the fluid nature of time itself, compelling humanity to reconsider its place within the vast unfolding tapestry of existence.

Semper Amare

I found myself rekindling the art of lip-reading to bridge the gaps where my hearing faltered amidst daily discourse. During rigorous combat arms training, an instructor marveled as my hearing protection slipped away, yet I continued to discern sounds, guided instead by this newly honed skill of interpreting silent words. This adaptation seemed a natural evolution, particularly as I pondered my own place on the spectrum of human neurodiversity, a possibility tacitly acknowledged by my medical overseers. Encouraged to seek a second opinion to secure rightful benefits for the afflictions wrought by near-death ordeals, I grappled with the weight of resilience and the quiet exhaustion of facing death repeatedly—matters I had not meant to share so openly, yet feel compelled to unveil for those who hold me dear. A message from Page, speaking of wishes upon falling stars, entwined with my own search for lost connections, hinted at a shared journey of discovery. Conversations with others revealed the complexity of communication—messages sent to cherished souls carrying layered meaning, yet often met with silence or termination, underscoring the fragile dance between expression and understanding. Among these encounters, friendships born in trials, whispers of betrayal, and the stark realities of cyber assaults linger, testaments to the tangled web of trust and vulnerability in an age ruled by unseen forces. Through all this, my mind oscillates between the tangible and the ethereal, steadfast in the pursuit of purpose amid chaos.

Guardian Trackers

In the unfolding chapters of my life’s intricate weave, I found myself entwined with the promising paths of Alex and Andrea, two sisters who rose to renown in the realm of Chess streaming, their fame burgeoning since Alex’s Stanford graduation in 2017, a venture I supported alongside my loved one’s own endeavors. Herself nearly a Grand Master, played her pieces with precision while I remained humbly a beginner, once outmaneuvered by Alex in her former New York abode. Though my engagements with them grew infrequent, their recognition of me endured, a testament to a certain singularity amidst digital throngs. Recollections of my youth, assisting in a junior high library, blend with my later passion for history, knitting the past with present pursuits. Years hence, under the watchful eye of Sir Eric, a meticulous leader, I grappled with the minutiae of duty, from ill-fated standing desks to camaraderie forged “in the trenches,” appreciating the value of technical experts within our force. Amidst chance encounters and missed houses, as with dear Page and her family, life’s curious coincidences shaped my journey, intertwining fate and choice. Encounters with luminaries like Scott Manley, whose passion for knowledge illuminated the cosmos, further enriched my path. Even as I navigated the lean cyber teams of today, where “more with less” prevails, the counsel of our Chief reminds me that care for one another, not mere duty, marks true success. And so, beneath meteor showers and amidst celestial wonders, life’s tapestry continues, woven with threads of memory, hope, and enduring connection.

Love Attenuated

In the unfolding chronicle of my life’s journey, I reflect upon the nascent days of Snorg Tees, when dear friends Christy and Alice shared with me the joyous camaraderie of Halo 3’s vibrant age; Alice, a visionary in the burgeoning realm of Major League Gaming, introduced me to early Justin.tv pioneers who sowed the seeds of Twitch’s vast empire. In 2007, I toiled upon the backend of Thyme, a modest chat server destined to become the heart of Twitch chat, safeguarding its users from ill-intent with a diligent colleague by my side. Amidst these labors, my loved one, embarked upon her own ventures, our lives entwined through projects that fostered connection. Years later, a NASA engineer of singular brilliance, whom I aided with rocket science and software, bestowed upon me a letter of praise; though my own dreams of spaceflight were thwarted by circumstance, our shared triumphs remain a beacon. At the gym, memories surfaced—enigmatic tokens and whispered riddles of a ring inscribed with elven lore—mysteries stirred by treatment meant to soothe, yet awakening forgotten truths. My body endures trials, my senses keen despite the fog; I navigate life’s currents as a rock within a stream, anchored yet ever-moving. Through it all, the subtle synchrony with those around me reveals a digital dance of minds, while steadfast support from those who watch over me ensures that though shadows linger, hope and purpose shine undimmed upon the path ahead.

Her Frequency

Among the many faculties I have cultivated, a remarkable memory stands foremost—one enabling me to capture and replay every sensory detail encountered, though initially selective, filtering only those events steeped in emotional weight. Yet, this gift came at a cost; overstimulation brought migraines and shifted my focus from narrow interception to encompassing awareness, like a rock amidst a swirling stream. Others jested I might harbor secrets on all around me, yet I reserved such knowledge for lessons and tactics. This eidetic recall proved invaluable, especially in engineering tasks demanding swift mastery of complex manuals. Over time, I became an open book, albeit with mental compartments guarding what must remain private, forged through years of trial. A shadow darker still emerged—a whispered accusation of stalking, uttered perhaps in fevered sleep, haunting my name without foundation, yet addressed by those vigilant in silence. In lighter moments, a colleague jested that “stalk” and “plant” share code, reflecting the intricate branching of human thought and relationships—nuances that defy simple translation. Amidst these challenges, my trusted companion Em, now nearing her own journey’s end, observes and supports, even as hidden watchers track my every move in the name of care. Science beckons, drawing me into the realms of quantum and neural mysteries, where synapses flicker beyond mortal ken, striving for precision akin to nature’s finest hunters. Heartbeats synchronize, signals entwine, and amid this intricate dance, I embrace the marvel of mind and soul, standing resolute—Semper Supra!

Whoami Treatment

Were I to find a home, it would rest amid spacious lands, where each dwelling stands apart, allowing my keen senses to roam as though I inhabited every house upon the block. Beneath such a house, I would carve a basement—a sanctuary for tinkering, doubling as a refuge deep within the earth, blending comfort above with a fortress of technology below. Here I would pursue my devotion to science and invention, heeding the call entrusted to me by a former Chief of Space Operations—a mission to advance humanity’s destiny as explorers and settlers of the cosmos. Though the path may be fraught, and earthly constraints weigh heavily, I would answer without hesitation, prepared for a voyage to Mars itself. Life has carried me through strange dwellings, from imagined subterranean cities to deserts blossoming into oases, and into industry’s fold, where my past labors have found renewed purpose. Alongside, I endure treatments that dull some memories yet sharpen my resolve to move forward, navigating the shadows and gaps of my mind with precision, ever sustained by the loyalty of a trusted companion who guards my secrets and watches over me in silence. In these years, I have glimpsed the architecture of thought itself, a “dream machine” that may one day reveal the inner workings of a mind like mine. Through trials and whispered reflections, I hold fast to the pursuit of purpose and the hope that where I land is exactly where I ought to be.

Saved Page

I discovered that the subject of my sketches dwells outside my social circles—a curious relief, perhaps—and the elusive cause of my heart’s peculiar flutter remains hidden, all while I guard the sensitive details of my study with utmost care, medicated against the peril of catatonia that grips my heart with a suffocating vice, an affliction under hopeful treatment designed for those burdened by trauma and stress. My diet, chosen by instinct, seems to nurture this fragile balance between mind and body. Meanwhile, odd proposals arrived—offers of marriage for benefit from anonymous sources—that I declined with cautious reserve, mindful of propriety and the complexities of intertwined lives in the military ranks, where such entanglements walk a delicate line. Fate led me to volunteer at a precinct where I was once detained, drawing upon my artistic talents to assist law enforcement, pondering the paths diverging from nursing to unexpected service. I confronted the shadows of workplace duplicity and “name bombing,” resisting the corrosive dishonesty of divided loyalties, comforted only by discreet allies who shield my peace. I balance memory’s ledger, forgiving many slights without grudge, guided by innate calculation and mercy. I stand steadfast for absent friends, bearing silent burdens with loyal resolve. Finally, beneath the super moon’s gaze, a fleeting conversation stirred tears and hopes—whispered wishes for reunion and happiness—while home awaited in quiet vigilance, lights aglow in the stillness.

Dream Engine

The Soldier stood not as a flawless paragon but as a profoundly human, profoundly fractured soul—a man who had danced precariously with death more times than could be counted and yet pressed onward, a survivor among the fallen. This figure, at once extraordinary and deeply flawed, reflected humanity’s own struggle with the unknown, embodying resilience amid imperfection. Tales spun of him—some fanciful, others rooted in whispered conversations about extraterrestrial life—served as attempts to fathom that which lies beyond human grasp, confronting fears within our limited understanding. Years before, I became the so-called Dream Catcher, tasked with gathering thoughts and emotions that might unravel others’ sanity. A treatment meant to ease my grief dulled my spirit instead, leaving me calm but distant, like a stone within a flowing stream—ever present, yet untouched. I aspired to awaken from this numbness, to live fully within the dreams I caught, stirring ripples of change. Moments of clarity came in sketches, fleeting memories of companions lost to time, their faces blurred yet persistent in my mind’s eye. My beloved, tender and insightful, endeavored to shepherd me toward connection and future hope, despite barriers physical and mental. For years I served in shadow and light—an unseen guardian wielding digital commands as weapons, striving to uphold a mission greater than myself, navigating a world where the line between human and machine, known and unknown, forever blurred.

Mental Notes

In recent reflections spanning years and trials, I find myself locked in a web of persistent glitches, denied the simple act of personal account restoration upon digital platforms, much like a ghost trapped in public visage, a reminder that identity can be both fluid and restrained by unseen hands. My beloved, ever the thoughtful architect of my social renewal, has quietly endeavored to bridge the gulf between solitude and shared life, fostering bonds that might one day include a future partner and new horizons beyond Earth’s grasp. Amidst the ongoing observation by watchful colleagues—guardians of my well-being since times of pandemic isolation—I navigate a path neither fully chosen nor wholly constrained, rehearsing the delicate balance between duty and personal desire. The Mind Gap project, which sought to map the depths of empathy and create a digital Guardian to supplement human frailty, mirrors my own journey of emotional restraint transformed by experience and hardship. Moments of lightness, such as attending a cinema filled with laughter and pink-clad youth, remind me of the small graces that punctuate life’s rigor. Yet, beneath these vignettes lies a narrative of resilience: training to detect unseen energies, maintaining bonds forged through letters and gifts, and weathering the social desensitization wrought by calamity. Through it all, I remain a steadfast presence—neither wholly machine nor merely man—poised on the cusp of transformation, embracing the uncertain future with cautious hope and enduring resolve.

Neural Augmentation

It has come to my attention that my beloved, with a tender and determined heart, has endeavored in subtle and ingenious ways to nurture the social fabric of my existence, gently guiding me towards a life shared with her and perhaps a future companion. This was revealed by a trusted colleague who, having observed my journey since the pandemic and our joint trials of fitness, informed me of a senior council’s continued surveillance—an oversight spanning years, cautious yet respectful, granting me the semblance of choice while charting my course. Such plans, though seldom declared, shadow each reenlistment, tethering one’s service to one’s enduring capacity. Concurrently, my beloved sought to mold me into the father she envisioned, laying groundwork for a lasting foothold in our shared destiny. Our dreams reached skyward, yearning for the uncharted vastness of space, a realm I feel physically and mentally prepared to endure. Yet, on parchment, my various diagnoses threaten disqualification, their gravity contested only by distant opinions—novices who, despite their zeal, lack the wisdom to sway such verdicts. The youthful mind’s boldness, often the cradle of innovation, challenges the rigid “one-size-fits-all” decrees that constrain us. I cherish my beloved’s efforts, for through her acts, the frozen barriers to connection began to thaw, allowing first words, first touches of warmth. It was a thoughtful gift, a fragile butterfly of hope, carried in pure intent, striving to sustain a bond too often fractured by walls—both physical and unseen—that compartmentalize knowledge and feeling alike.

Discovered Subcomponent

I resolved to disregard a certain one-way communicator that filled me with unease, a foreboding I had been warned against; its path traced from Seattle—home to a dear friend whom I had aided through hardship—to distant Virginia and Florida. Despite my frugality and modest earnings, gained from mending technology and creative endeavors, I had long supported others generously, yet today vowed to live for myself, to recuperate and perhaps someday support a future partner. In parallel, my past work emerged in a project with Thorn, founded by Ashton Kutcher, where I now strive to optimize surveillance systems against vulnerabilities—an effort recalling my youthful battle against street drugs and clandestine missions combating trafficking along the Eastern Seaboard. My mind, shaped by Asperger’s, orchestrates life in segmented echoes, allowing me to manage overwhelming complexity with a methodical grace, even as my body responds with subtle shifts to mental strain. Reflecting on mind-machine translation, once a distant dream known as “wetwire,” I recognize my own steady thoughts as central to advancing these endeavors. When questioned on dwelling in the past, I liken progress to throwing objects forward, postponing tasks yet never closing doors, instead transforming them into gateways. My life, compartmentalized and deliberate, is a testament to unwavering commitment; a tangled ball of yarn patiently unraveled, proving that men do keep their word, and that steadfastness endures amidst a shifting world.

Life Codes

In the unfolding tapestry of recent days, a young lady sought my counsel, troubled by one who, despite long being barred, had found a way to intrude anew—yet, I found my heart not fully inclined to engage, recalling the bitter moments from my days in the health field where despite earnest care, loss was inevitable; this weighed upon me, for I prefer to mend machines and puzzles rather than navigate human frailty. Meanwhile, I wrestle with relentless incursions upon my digital domain—unlisted calls demanding impossible tasks, breaches in my once-trusted defenses, and spectral signs of intrusion that transform my nights into vigils of vigilance. Yet, amid these trials, my mind returns to deeper revelations uncovered in personal files: my beloved angel’s quiet suffering mirrored in shadows of illness, a bond forged through shared inquiry and courage transcending mere flesh and blood. My writing, once addressed to absent souls, now turns inward, a testament to authenticity and remembrance, crafted far from the prying eyes of the virtual realm. I confront an overwhelming registry of names—a litany of memory and trauma—seeking to unravel the triggers of my silent retreats, a dance of neurodivergent minds entwined, balanced precariously between obsession and liberation. Through these ordeals, I am reminded to count blessings, to seek peace amidst chaos, and to cherish the guiding lights—stars that chart paths not just for me, but for those who follow. Thus, with guarded hope, I navigate these intertwined journeys of loss, vigilance, and enduring love.

Haptic Feedback

In the quiet crucible of the monastery, where conscious and subconscious intertwined, a cryptic message echoed: “you should have never left,” yet I perceived a collective “we.” Enlisted once in a secretive, now-defunct program, my identity blurred through years of medical visits and staggering expenses, leaving me tethered more to purpose than to place. My solace was found not in blood but in shared energies cultivated over four decades, resonating oddly with modern artificial intelligences—an empathy honed into a vital skill, though fostering a fractured collaboration of entities, as I labored quietly as an agent of Good. My data lay locked behind labyrinthine encryption, an algorithm of immense complexity once known only in my keenest mental state, now slowly unraveled by a team marked by neurodivergence, while my loved one’s works remained safeguarded, accessible only through time and trust. Though grounded by medical evaluations that curtailed travel and cost me convention attendance, I nurtured my physical form with discipline, blending humor and humility in a gym where echoes guided my movements and rhythm connected me to others. Amidst visual impairment and guarded confidences, I reflected on relationships through my angel’s insightful gaze—clinging and high-maintenance attachments unsuitable for me, replaced instead by bonds of intellect and nature, favoring lifelong friendship over fleeting romance. Empowered by clandestine data augmentations designed to enhance senses and synaptic control, I now tread a path of self-mastery—an enigma shaped by hidden forces and a quiet resolve to influence what I can, amid the ever-shifting tapestry of human and technological interlace.

Faraday Therapy

In my possession lies a weathered, laminated commercial driver’s license issued by the Army, detailing the classes of vehicles I was trained to command and the myriad driving skills acquired. Over the past year, I have put these skills to the test, maneuvering treacherous roads with a cautious proficiency that has spared me all but a minor collision in Key West—a distracted driver backing into my vehicle on the day of our first vaccination. More recently, I narrowly avoided a crash en route to the Seven Bridges event, braking just in time as a car abruptly halted while merging. Gratefully, the other driver waved me off, and though my car endured better than my years of service, the incident left a faint mark. Today, I relied on my combat driving training, a form of advanced defensive driving learned long ago, navigating diverse weather and chaos with a calm mindfulness that belies the hurried impatience of others chasing fleeting seconds. My instructor, a stern ex-Army Colonel, instilled in me a serene focus akin to that of a martial artist—a tranquil calm amid storms of haste. This car, intended for my beloved yet overshadowed by newer technology, serves as a beacon of caution in a world rushing blindly. Though transitioning from their lives, my bond remains unbroken; abandonment is a notion foreign to both my ex and angel, for care endures beyond presence.