In the end, there's nothing more to life than love is there?

For those of you who always remembered Paul as upbeat and the glass half full kind of guy, he definately had his issues and was very introverted about them.  He was tormented at times, but he would never trouble others with his really deep internal struggles, only those at the surface and in the moment.  We all have our demons.  That place inside that we lock up tight in a box.  They are hidden deep in dark recesses to keep ourselves from reaching, remembering or facing them.  It is very eerie to see what Paul was seeing in the paintings and that he was wondering what the point of it all was.  I think after the second accident when he lost his ability to play music, he was able to see what he lost and what he had around him.  If he could talk to us now, he would say that the point of life is love of all things.  He tried to give back the best he could and appreciated everything he had.  He inspired and praised others and started expressing his feelings.  He did know who he was and found that meaning he was looking for.  I truly believe that in my heart.  He got to do his charity event and even a radio interview for Q104.3 and he forgave all that hurt him in his life.  He found old friends and made so many new ones.  He found love and he was loved by all.  His life was short, but he will be remembered by the so many he touched.

Paul wrote this in a notebook on 1/8/98

I believe I've entered into this to find some sort of answer. I believe that I have been searching for something forever. Since my earliest memory, I have found life to be eccentric and unfullfilling. I've had my dreams shattered, my beliefs challenged and my perception distorted. What I intend to do is to record my thoughts and feelings in an attempt to find out who I am. This will have no order and no pre-thought. It will simply be a record of thoughts of the moment. The amazing thing is that I believe I was put here for a reason and I don't know if in a past life I was different. I don't know if I missed something or let things slip by. I know that I have more regrets than most. I know that I am more complex than others, and that I have trouble forgiving myself. All of us make mistakes, but I make mine more tragic. Maybe by writing I can find out who I am and I do hope to believe in myself once again. I describe myself as a kind, sensitive and passionate individual who hasn't yet found out where I am supposed to go. Each and every day something new or old comes along and I find myself questioning what it all means. Maybe one day I'll find out.

Paul wrote a second entry on 2/3/98

A curiosity of failure, a madness for sadness. Don't know. Looking at some people you wonder the scars, the stories of tragedy that they have to share. I'm sure that more of us believe that our scars are more deeper than others. Growing up a change of life baby of a Holocaust victim certainly inherited my life with scars from the womb. Paranoia is too consistent. The fear is so imprinted into the soul.

Yesterday, I was in McDonalds in Hicksville. At this restaurant there was incredible abstract art impressions all over the walls. Looking to my left I was drawn to an image. A mirror. It was me. I looked into the wall, wondered how many souls were in limbo in that painting. The image, so real, so frighteningly correct. And I am in limbo. A lost soul. Looking for something. Anything.

PS- Today's title is from Snow Patrol