When it takes years to understand the significance of what it means when you find pure pleasure in gently running your fingers against soft, wet, beautiful flowers after a rain, when you've had "too much to drink"...knowing the petals of those flowers bring you nearly as much joy on a hot and dry day as they do in that moment following a downpour.
And he doesn't drink much anymore, but he says when he did he ran his fingers over the rough terrain of unyielding stone walls, waking up the next day, his fingernails ragged. No flowers there.
Though you know what waking up with bloodied ragged fingers feels like...it's evident that he has never seen the same flowers that blush beneath your fingers in those beautiful moments, that are just as beautiful on hot dry days. Beautiful beneath your touch.
There grows a vast empty terrain between those kinds of worlds.