There are some things man cannot find the words to describe.
When he tries to make sense of this feeling of perpetual solidarity he realizes he cannot convey it properly. He then becomes more lonely, disconnected from the souls of others.
Holding tight to the notion that one day this will suddenly change and he will have found purpose in life.
Maybe time will stop where love begins.
Maybe finding another soul akin to his will halt impending death and he will begin to live his life.
Because, if he feels this aloneness and finds no meaning in it, he thinks he cannot truly be living.
The act of living implies loneliness. When he is alone without distractions he must feel the reality of his emotions, and without them could we call his life a life at all?
The one of an already dead man, there must be a reason he continues on.
Maybe time will stop where love begins.