Weak. That’s what they’d all been. A homeless vagabond freezing in the chill of December,forgotten. A sickly patient left to rot in a hospital bed,isolated. A lonely soul with no one left to turn to for comfort,alone.

All would be willing to kill for a strand of attention.

This man was their saviour.

The one left to the street swept up into his warm embrace,never to be forgotten again.

The one fallen ill healed,never to be isolated again.

The one alone showered with gifts and affection,never to be alone again.

Oh how lovely it had been. Before the cracks appeared.

He proclaimed it in ‘love’ for each,of course.

What else would such care be?

Such time.

Such attention.

Such a fun little game.

It must be love.