Struggle.

He is sitting on a hill. The cold wind is like a slap to the face, but he doesn't mind. He's watching the sun slip below the earth, waiting for the moon. Just like Always. Just like Forever. He stares at the burning orb slipping lazily through the clouded sky. He wonders, "Does the Sun know it's Beauty? Does it know that unless I knew better I'd stare at it until I went blind. Just taking it in. Weeping and and wiping away the pain, unblinking, holding that image in my mind forever as my retinas burned away." He sits and stares, waiting for the Moon. Just like Always. Just like Forever. He knows that the Moon and the Sun are two different bodies... They are the same. Just different parts of a day. Or a night. All the Same.


He sits, holding a bottle. Wondering what the whiskey sour will taste like. If it will taste like relief or defeat. If it will improve his day. Or worsen it. Will it drive the loneliness away? Will it change..just..one..night? When it hits his lips will it taste like a lover's kiss? Or will it taste like ashes in his mouth? He doesn't know. He contemplates the bottle.

He sits in the dark. Thinking. Wondering about where the many roads ahead of him will lead. So many paths, so few real outcomes. All roads lead to Rome they say, but he knows most roads while scenic for a bit all just lead to nowhere. Loops and beltways and freeways and broken asphalt. All going nowhere. Everywhere leads Nowhere he thinks, and when you get there, the passenger seat is always empty. What a ride. He turns on some old country, some old southern rock, and lets himself go to a quiet place. the roads are empty tonight and he has a long way to ride.