It eats at him all the time. Every minute, every moment. Is this all there is? Is this all there ever will be? A history of betrayal like a history of violence that can’t be shaken. Coffee and endless cigarettes. Alcohol that dulls the pain for awhile. And he walks. He’s always walked. And always away. Hiding, walking, pretending. Why’s there no medicine for this — a happy pill that’ll take it all away? He wants to sleep, to sleep for years, to wake up in five in a different world. But he can barely sleep five hours a night. And the fear’s back, like a nasty animal nestled at the base of his neck, biting, scratching, whispering “failure”. Is there no redemption, no forgiveness, no last chance at happiness? His hindsight’s so perfect, crystal clear, but his steps stumble like those of a blind man, walking backwards.
Another chance, please, oh God, another chance at happiness, but the fear’s there again, whispering “never again,” and he fears she’s right.