It all started with a text message that was sent. With it was hope. He didn’t think that she would be asleep at 11pm on a Sunday evening. He wasn’t aware of her habits and preferences.
By 1am, hope morphed into a monster, fed by fears of rejection. Before he lost consciousness, the last thing he held in his hands was his mobile phone, willing for it to buzz.
She did reply. It came in the morning as he was making his way to work. But by then, the monster had grown into something bigger, more entrenched and sinister. It would plague him for the rest of the week.
He thought a run would introduce endorphins into his system and starve the monster. Blatantly, he ignored the fact that the signs were there during the last two runs when he detected a slight dip in mood on both occasions.
It struck about an hour after Axl Rose was done blasting his eardrums with his distinct vocals. The night was set. Life spiraled downwards.
A week ago, everything was calm and peaceful. A week later, it seemed as though the carpet was pulled from under his feet.
There are words he didn’t care for, not when he can be emotionally incapacitated by his very own.