Walking on a knife edge, he had for some years. Each step, a step further away from pain yet painful in each step. It seemed each path walked, each door opened lead to hurt, despair. Not his own but that of others as though drawn by magnetism or some such force. Reality was he simply listened to others pain, an empath. Then one day he was asked who was his next victim, although in jest, it hit home like an explosion. At that point stark realisation he was never going to be happy. For he saw only a harbinger of sorts in symbiosis. Simply existing for others to repair themselves. A haven for lost causes and the distressed. In that moment the realisation, a home for no ones heart.