No Matter How Bad Things Are, They're Always Worse For Someone Else
His phone vibrates against the loose change in his bag. Perhaps he has a phone call...no, just one text message. He realizes what has happened, and chuckles slightly at the sender's misfortune. Two minutes later, it happens again. And again. No longer is he amused, but rather annoyed at the inconvenience. His thoughts drift off to those days long since gone, glancing upon nostalgia. Suddenly, he is jerked full-speed back into the present; thought of anger and depression swirl throughout his mind. Chances not taken, places not explored, people not met, things not done. His struggle between action and his thoughts rages on. Everything is symbolic. His desire to act conflicts with the consequences of these actions. He acts by remaining silent, his pain turned inward like a dagger being twisted into his stomach. His thoughts land upon her, and his heart drops into his stomach where it promptly explodes, shards scattered throughout his body. When did this start? His favorite song wafts through the air like the scent of a lover long gone. Familiar, but gone. Those words he uttered so long ago in jest now ring true. Everything is symbolic. He's fallen too far to be lifted out of this valley of sadness by mere sounds. He chooses to embrace his sorrow, listening to words that merely enhance his despair. When will this end? He was happy earlier this week. Where did that go? He thinks back to the alcoholic stupor that brought him such joy, but also the naturally good times he had. He lingers on the artificially created euphoria, wishing he could have it once again, and not have to dwell on such thoughts. He realizes that his happiness comes from distractions, strategically placed throughout his day, his week, his month, his year, his life. Don't think. Is this real happiness? Don't think. Everything is symbolic.