John with a J

John was sitting on the pavement, talking to his favourite voice, looking somewhat glazed when a young girl approached him,

- Are you alright sir?

John tucked his little red train wreck of a tie and changed into a pair of warm eyes. Poor little girl, you deserve a better truth than mine - he thought. And so he lied,

- Yes, I'm fine... I'm just taking a break. Today has been a good day.

She went away and John was once again left with his friendly voice,

- Today hasn't been a good day, has it John?

[No, today has been a terrible day. Everyday is a terrible day, with its never ending queue of hideous shards of time. Little miserable seconds that build up into this "thing" I now call life. How I loathe this existence, this natural progression of events. It’s all her fault…]

- Her?

[Yes, her, my wife. She ran away with death and she left me here, alone. And I can't breathe. So, most days, I find myself pounding the streets, trying to shake off this sense of numbness, this cold undisturbed feeling that things are never gonna be ok. I don’t know… most days I just... can't breathe.]

- It’s getting late John, why don’t you go to your house?

[I can’t, no matter how hard I close my eyes it doesn’t feel like home anymore. Too much silence I guess…]