"I don't know." He said noncommittally. Because it wasn't so much a search for the bright in the dismal. He was always aware that the dismal was there. But the bright just seemed to happen, as brightness tended to do. Little sparks here and there, small good events like fireflies in the night.

It didn't feel good enough to say that it was significantly good. And he knew that if that were the criteria for survival, he was actually the walking dead.

"You need to keep busy. Even if it's just with music, you have to keep moving or your head can catch up with you. It lets the loneliness in."