it was 3 am. streetlights illuminated the city. he sat in the cold, with blueish fingertips wedged into his black denim jeans. he wedged so far down into his jeans he started to feel a new hole starting to form. he sat with 2 crinkled dollars in his upper jacket pocket, and a cigarette tucked behind his ear.
he sat with an eighth of a bottle of heineken, and a burning throat. the taste of the beer was like acid, and the feel going down his throat was pungent. he was sad. but feeling sad and being sad was two different things for him.
he was actually depressed. very depressed. the type of depressed that you can't feel anything, it was like his brain was at a halt, it was not generating like the way it used too.
he never envisage himself here. but he never expect himself at home either.
he loved them. he just didn't know how to show them that. he didn't love them hard enough, that's why they left so fast. they were gone.
especially her. she was never coming back. no matter how hard he thought about her, he could not bring her back. sometimes he would close his eyes really tight, to envision her. he would see her pink full lips, her hazel eyes, her dark brunette hair, her fair olive skin, and he would see all the hope she carried. he then soon would open his eyes.
he was alone.
