Towers

11

Family was something that he could never understand. Never really having anyone to care about him and the threat of those who did dying, only forced him to be alone. He had no other choice. The thought of family makes him laugh because no matter what family always falls apart no matter how hard he tried. The image was nothing more than a fantasy by now.

The good dreams often revolved around family, just genuine love and appreciation for simple things. They were such nice dreams that waking up was all the more dreadful. At least nightmares would reflect on the nightmare that is reality but nice dreams were a contradiction he couldn't stand anymore.

Anything nice was a joke to him. Happiness just didn't exist in his bleak reality. The only comedy he could truly find funny. While normally, he would at least understand its existence, now, in his slow spirals into a seemingly never ending depression, it felt fake.

Maybe he was going insane. Turning into a sociopath. Maybe he wasn't. It didn't matter anymore and neither did time. Each glass of wine just came and went. His mind was fuzzy, scattered. Thought coming onto thought in a barrage of nonsense. His sight swayed as he laughed to him as the thought that maybe someone really did care for him. A lie is all it will ever be. He took another swing of the bottle he grabbed after giving up on the glass. There was just never enough for him. Never enough to drown out everything.

A chuckled escaped him this time as he remembered once so close to drowning. The feeling of water filling lungs, unable for air, enclosed in pure density. It was thrilling. It was somehow funny. Funny in the sense of being told a bad joke but laughing anyway. Another bitter laugh unintentionally escaped.

Suddenly, he pulled himself up. His legs barely able to hold. Upon gaining some semblance of balance he made his way across the balcony. While his eyes were a blur, he knew what he was looking at. The city. Paris. His home and favorite place to be.

Such a sad place it is now. Nothin but bleak and busy. The rainy days not really helping the color scheme.
It was entirely his fault but he didn't care. Nothing matter anymore. Still, he couldn't deny one single fact. Paris was beautiful no matter what.

It was something he oddly missed. The sight of Paris despite always seeing it. The rain only added to the beauty. Little reflections every-which-way, emphasizing the little details. That was really it. The little details. He had forgotten the little thing after so much of thinking of the big picture. There was nothing to the bigger picture.

It was the little things that counted most. Just like the last drip of wine in the bottle.