I lay here, legs crossed. My breath smells like nicotine. The nicotine I breathed into my lungs killing myself, puff after puff. I felt relieved. All the stress, it all went away. Stress and the melancholy feeling, gone. I've had this burning desire to pick myself up out of bed and go out and have some fun. But no, I don't have the energy to. Each dawn is another curse. Every breath I take is a twisiting blade that shatters the hourglass. The hourglass that counts the remaining days I have before I decide that it is all too much. I can feel my own fear and weakness. I see it everyday I look in the mirror. My eyes, they completely reveal what's inside. Doom. That is what's inside. The doomed and broken pieces of my life. I've taken great measure to appear like I'm doing fine. But I'm not. The memories, they cripple me. I'm torn apart.
Days later, I decided to pick myself up. I sat down on bed. Still wearing my denim blue jeans and my worn out shirt. My head still aches. The aching. It hasn't stopped. I looked over to my small wooden table that stood beside my bed. A white, transparent box was kept there. I walked over, my steps echoed through the empty room. I picked up the box and opened it. A white rectangular pill was kept inside. The words, "paracetamol" was written on the tablet. I faltered my way to the refrigerator and opened it. A gush of cool air blew from inside it. It felt calming. The calm you feel after the storm. I grabbed a bottle of water. I drank the water and gulped it all with the tablet. The aching disappeared for a while. I was on my way to the door. I touched the metal knob and turned it around. The sound of it being unlocked weirdly satisfied me. The door was made of wood. There were old artistic designs carved on it. The apartment was small, but the designs were done by a fine artistic person. I went down and walked out of the building.
Today, the sky looked grey, like a child began to draw something on it but erased the whole thing that smudged it and spread grey all over the white paper. And all the while, the rain crashed down like crazy chaotic drops. The gusting wind bent the trees that were planted on the asphalt. Every drop bouncing off every hard surface it hit. The rain mingled down my face. I leaned against a wall and faded away into my thoughts.
All that I am is sadness. What once was love, happiness and joy has become burnt down ashes of hate, angusih and misery. I am still picking up the pieces from the past she left behind. What she once was, has become a silhouette, as if she walked away from a photograph and left behind blackness. But no, she didnt walk away. The situation was such that missing her and imagining waking up right next to her was inevitable. If I stop to dwell on it even for a fraction of a second, my face would be overflowing with tears. Flowing down from eyes to my lips, salty and cold were those tears. Reminding me of every precious happy moment I ever spent with her.
Without her, I am a hollow shell of a man I used to be. I am nothing. Without her, I am a tree forever stuck in winter, devoid of any sunshine or water. My world is cold, my body deprived of the life it once had. Now I walk alone, alone on this lonely road wondering whether my soul is doomed to be barren.