Next Day...

The dying night gives way to the teasing rays of dawn and a further insight into an unsettling truth that looms unavoidably before him. The type that seems inspired by an unwarranted lie that can only be seen when you're half awake.
He would much rather raise his uncomprehending gaze towards the blurry heavens but he sees instead the cold stark floor. Unaccustomed to this miserable unending brown he realises that even though his lurching journey through darkness had ended, the light was no less forgiving.

So relentless and misleading is the healing time that one can only hope that it somehow evolves his urge to grieve into an impulse to forget. He wishes to be free from fear and lust and the need to want and crave that eat through cherished memories and leave a staggering hatred and such hopelessness that is falsely perceived as true hope. He lies still on his back staring into the oblivion, pondering upon the biting cold and the distant God in whose hands we relinquish our fate. It all seemed as if vengence were upon him with an unnerving whim. He just doesn't know where he faltered even though the truth of the situation is that it probably could not be helped. But blaming himself makes for a quick respite. For within the problem lies the solution and the hope of alteration and a chance to influence, rather than abject hopelessness as you stand witness to your conceived nightmares that a well meaning plan quickly distorts into.

Sometimes he looks at the truthful obvious in such minute detail that it tends to become invisible. Sometimes he looks at it with such dejection and monotonocity that he loses sight of its poetry. The truth has but a single measure of fact which effortlessly he refuses to accept and instead lies vanquished in reality but victorius in a fools hope. He is scarred with the memory of the piercing wind and the permeating drops of cold rain that freezes not just his body, but also his soul. But even such scars cannot compare to a broken heart and a distant loneliness that leaves him lost and in ponderance and an ever increasing desire towards a purpose long lost. Was it ever wrong to be so human. Or is it human to be so wrong...