Do we always think forward: tomorrow, next week, next year..?

And there comes a day when one sees, till the bone, in his life, that no pleasure, realization of this or that plan does not, will not bring happiness. Even a big love affair, as if from the postcard from the seaside, possessing another human being which is maybe the biggest pleasure, is just an illusion if thereby one wants to plug the big black hole of lack in himself. In fragmentary perception.

The words hunt us: sorrow, fear, loneliness, we think in words and we try to escape when they torture us. We never stop and examine what they mean deeper, what are those things which we call sorrow or loneliness in reality? What are they beneath the surface of the words?