Lonely.

I see the rough, hewn stones that make up the street that lines up to the tavern up ahead. My feet trace their path there every evening after work. Their ale is the strongest. I need it so that I black out, and can move out of this innate tedium of frustration and loneliness. Work, eat, drink, pass out, wake, work, eat, drink, pass out. It does get boring after a while. The worst is that the only part that is not boring, is the shortest, and is unconsciously spent. I only wish I can inject some life into my pathetic excuse for one.

But it's not just something to do. It is more to do with someone to be with. I realise that I started going to the tavern religiously only when I started hating going home to no one. To an empty kitchen, and an unmade bed. To a place with no laughter, or intelligence, or joy, or company. I'd rather drown in noise and ale and in the throngs of unknown faces, than spend even a single moment alone staring up at the cracks in the ceiling or the spider weaving its web patiently near the corner.

It's a shame really. The whole wide world out there to explore and have fun, and yet I'm dreary and alone and miserable. When I was younger, I used to dream, and I had decided that I would never ever simply lose it and never ever give up on life.

I guess, that's just how it turned out for me.

- Vinaykrishnan