He wonders at his isolation, awaiting some other who can understand. Self-pity disgusts him; exposes his most vulnerable areas.
Every little bit of writing, of singing, makes him feel better. Sometimes, it is better to be unknowing; to be apart in a crowd. What Izzy would like, very much, is to be loved; not just loved lightly, but loved for his faults and imperfections. Like anyone, his emotions sometimes get the better of him; his sensitivities, tuned-up, too high.
[To be continued...]