Every man for himself is a lonely world. In which, while thinking we are safe, we shut the door, turn the lock, pull the bolt from the additional burglary protection and retire inside. We sit on our preferred chair or enter the bedroom to lie on the bed. This is our sanctuary. No one else is welcome here. We know who did the work that procured the fortress for us. We did. Singularly. Unfortunately, we die the same way.
Why do we behave like fires that ebb away alone but glow in the company of others?