Solemn

If there ever was a point to this, how he wishes he knew. Sitting on his chair with his hands covering his face, he contemplates. His thoughts bring him back to those moments that shaped him. Always those moments. Forever more, he will remain trapped in those moments. Trapped. Those precious moments are all he has. All he is. He can't look ahead. He doesn't want to. Silently, he wishes for death. He longs for the rest he so desperately desires. Eternal rest.


His thoughts return to the now. He hates the now. Looking around his ramshackle residence, he lets out a sigh. This place, like him, is broken down and disorganized. He identifies strongly with this place, a metaphor for his life. Once bright, clean and beautiful. Now, dark, ugly and in a severe state of disrepair. Standing up from the chair, he slowly paces around his so-called home. He eyes his possessions, the food he never eats and the clothes he never wears. A sickly sweet aroma invades his nose.


His complacency and melancholy eat away at him like a malevolent cancer. He feels it within him. A complete void. He knows the intense, sharp pains aren't a coincidence. His stomach begs for sustenance, but he won't give in. He has no desire for comfort. Too well-acquainted with his misery even as it's draining him. Draining his will to live. His hands are icy cold. He shivers constantly from the storm waging within him. His vision is blurry and the world around him has taken on an almost ethereal glow. He's slipping away.


People don't see him. He goes unnoticed, unappreciated. He tries, he really does, but they continue to give him excuses to abandon them. Just as they've abandoned him. He is alone here. Everywhere. He lives in a completely different world. Alien, almost. He looks at them with both pity and rage. Mindless, hapless insects scurrying to justify empty ends. He scoffs at the idea of being so ignorant. And yet, he desires to reach through his world and touch them. He wants to communicate. He wants to be seen. Perish the thought.


Flipping through his mental photo album, he comes across a picture that makes him smile. He see's himself as a young boy. The boy is smiling, bright and beautiful. He pulls out this photo and closes the album. Laying down on his bed, he traces his finger across the photo, before placing it over his heart. He closes his eyes, one last time. Eternal rest.