Too Warm to be Chilly

There was love inside the basement, with an open door he let it go. For an ego as large as his to be brought back to some state of equivalency was earth-shattering. He had been given this aura which didn’t suit him. Others perceived a person that wasn’t him. From how he lived, to how he spoke, there was some vague sense of certainty about his actions… He had never acted in certainty, he always saw it as reacting to circumstance; suppose his natural ability in handling life’s situations was just more innate for someone of his few years.

The life he had envisioned as a child had long since passed, as it does… It’s a natural discourse of human development to forgo those ideals of the quintessential life. Had he only lived in seclusion maybe he could’ve forged a destiny less tainted from self-destruction, alas this is a fools dream, or rather an idealist’s nightmare. It had taken him too long to figure out the things in life which were important. Often carelessness and pride would get in his way, acting as a detour from any progressive path. Too much time and effort had been invested into fields of unimportance.

He had grown with the seasons, cold and despondent. The relics of yesterday did little but stir mixed emotions, none of them with a recollection of anything worth cherishing. His life had become a monotonous routine, each day blending seamlessly with the last. He lived in his own personal hell, the only saving grace were the few memories that took control of his thoughts. Those eyes, that smile, her voice… all of it was constantly at the forefront of his mind. He wanted to let go, and felt he had time and time again, this was something new; this pain, the longing, all of it was a new feeling. His inability to recognize it just drove him madder.