".. Where I'm going, I'm saving them the hassle of going with me. I'd rather catch myself my own death early on than, and get on with what's to come. Those fishes you mentioned can just keep swimming or just be caught by other better fishermen."
"Doesn't it get lonely?"
"It might get scalding or freezing. But whatever. I don't want those silly things crying or coming with me."
".. Doesn't it get lonely?"
"It doesn't always have to be myself, right? In my dream, there is a vast ocean filled with plenty of fishes of different looks and colors. I saw many boats by the dock. There were fishermen, either readying there gears for fishing or having just returned from a bountiful fishing. Their families too are there. They were either waving them goodbye or are welcoming them. They were all happy.
"And I'm standing on the edge of a very high cliff behind me is a forest. The trees on it's edge are welcoming and tall. I hear a few chirping of birds and feint whispers. I also heard the rustling and falling of gentle leaves and the creeking of the bark of aged tree. Other than those, there were nothing else. There were no one else."
"Did you get down the cliff and join the harvest?"
"I turned around and entered the forest."
".. Did you find anything?"
"Solitude."
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