When he looked back, he could see a point where he lost interest in those who were percieved as being close to him, their love a clumsy misunderstanding. He withdrew and withdrew, and eventually they were distant. Even more distant than the ones who had not been close.
He retreated further and they grew more distant until finally he was alone, just the memory of them to keep him company.
And when he looked back, he could see a point where he lost interest even in the memory of them, and from this vantage point he wondered who they were.
And some great long time after this, he could not see them at all, could not recollect them, could not smile or shed tears at the memory of them. Had any of it ben real?
He wondered if he had been part of them. One of them. But now, in not knowing who or what they were, he wondered about his own nature.
And when he looked back, he could see a point when he lost interest in himself and trying to understand any of it. He could feel himself fading into an unforgiving, infinite distance, and eventually... he simply ceased to be.