The Long Way Home

He walked back home in darkness. There were never stars where he lived. The sky obsorbed the street lights and they dulled the cement with a orange light that just made everything feel decadant. The street's disposition was like embers of sadness. The leaves of the trees rubbed against each other and made whispers that no one understood. And his steps, light brushes against the earth, but heavy resounding.

A car, small, with only one working light, passed by indescretly as he thought of the song.
Over and over it played in his mind. Ritualistically, even the words were patternistic. It became a puzzle that led to her everytime. It was sick how they went together so well. It was sick how he put himself throught the same toture everyday.
The car that had passed, dissapeared and he felt himself alone again.

It was a peaceful alone, but so meloncholie. It was mourning. Losing something you've never had, never could grasp or bundle in your arms and feel it's warmth.
Being alone. It was home to him. Where the motivation began and ended. Where the inspiration constantly started up just to stall. Where love and obsession grew just to eat it self up again. His own home was his one loathing but the only place where he felt comfort. It was the one love that never died.

She seemed like a cure. The desire to stop this love was aching so much, but the addiction it had always held him down. That's how he felt. Like it was always there. Always on him, pressing him down with a love like no other.

The leaves crumpled beneath his shoes. He looked up to see his home. The limbs of trees wavering back and forth, making playful shadows of unknown creatures dance in the sick orange light. He saw the shimmering blades of thin grass roll back to subdue to the frail wind. How they acquiesced to something so bearable. A reflection, a mirror of mockery.

He looked up to see another car pass. The sillouette behind the wheel followed him. Penetrated him with oil slick eyes. Then there was a shot, followed by a white flash.
He looked down to see his hand pressed against his chest. Blood dripping lazily off his finger tips. The haziness of his breathing. As shadow drew him in, draining deep into some desire. The life slipped away to leave him but a dream.

He remembered the song. How each time he saw her face, he knew she was never fully there. Everytime she reached for him, her heart stopped her cause she loved another. And everytime he touched her finger tips, attempting to grasp, he knew she was just slipping further away. And him too.

Around his ankles he saw the feeling of lonliness wrap itself around him. Like an eel weaving between his feet, so beautiful and lithe, but so very dangerous. Wavering back and forth. And when he looked back to see her face, the light dimmed and he returned to his home. His one loath. His one forever love. He closed his eyes to let the tears flow once more, to let them slip across his cheeks. He squeezed his eyes tight.
But when he opened them, the presence of a familiar hand and a face he recognized. He felt the wetness on his face and the pang in his chest. The throb of intensity as a voice spoke to him.

"It will be alright. But why did you take the long way home?"

And the darkness consumed him once again. The orange light layed itself upon him. And the face, the hand, the voice all faded into the darkness. The tree's whispered, and his footsteps remained. The door was locked to his home. He knocked softly on the window and waited for someone to slip the dead-bolt undone.