The trickle of the small water fountain by his desk echoes off the cold tile floor in rythm with the oscillating rythm of the computer. A glare shines soft and white across the room from the flatscreen monitor above. And in the center of this triangulation of eminance he sits, body tired and slightly sore from poor posture and long hours in an old office chair. He sits and he thinks, of those he loves, of that which burdens his heart with sadness, of the hopes he has and the leaps in growth he has made, as well as his moments of foolishness and unkindness, and to him come the words of his friends and peers, family and teachers, and they support his heart. In his mind expands shifting patterns of scenes from the world and from dreams, and they remind him of what is beautiful and worth living for.