The headache has come again, the dull pain in temples throbbing in the rhythm of his heartbeat. He hated that pain; it always came quietly, sneaking in like an uninvited guest who announces himself only when is too late to throw him out; when no pill no matter how strong it was would help to ease it.

He went in the bathroom anyway; took from the cabinet the phial and from it a white-blue capsule, which he swallowed with the gulp of water.

With the corner of his eye he caught reflection of himself in the mirror. He grabbed the edges of the sink and bended forward, taking a long, hard look of himself. He looked like crap, knowing that a lot of people didn’t noticed the dull look in his brown eyes, the ashen complexion on his face… He closed his eyes, leaned with his forehead on the cold surface of the mirror. Who cares, he doesn’t…not right now; he was so tired, so sick of his lifestyle, sick of the cage he himself created.

He glued himself from the sink, turned his back to the image he didn’t wanted to see and went to the balcony, where he sat on the cosy bench by the wall. He has everything; friends that loves him, a roof over his head, the job that he loves, well generally and at the same time he has nothing, because there was nobody to share all of this with. He hated this. He should be happy, he should be content, but all that he felt was emptiness, loneliness.

He stretched his legs before him and leaned with his back on the wall. He wished he was in love, even if it wasn’t reciprocated, it would be better that this emptiness.

But you are in love, voice whispered in his mind. Oh yes, he was in love in the image his mind created, but his eyes never saw it; even when sometimes the trick of light made him think that he found it on the face in the crowd. His heart then started to beat wildly and a hope tightened his chest, that maybe…maybe…but no… it was always an illusion, web made from a silken thread of dreams his fingers couldn’t grasp. This transparent ghost of a dream only brought sadness in his life, the knowledge that he would never hold his mind’s creation in his arms… alone, he felt so alone… and a little crazy.

Maybe he should book a visit at the psychiatrist. A small ironic smile appeared on his lips, before it disappeared. It was so easy to smile, so easy to blink the tears away, so easy to hold melancholy and sorrow at bay, but so hard to chase away the loneliness that was holding his heart in a tight grip.

A sound of cello accompanied soon with a drum came from the pocket of his trousers, growing louder and louder.

He took from his pocket the phone and opened him.

“Hello.”

“…..”

“Right now.”

“…..”

“Ok. I’ll be there in ten.”

He stood up, closed the phone and deposited it in his pocket. It was time to go.

He smiled, his lips curving in a sad smile. Life always goes on, no matter how much he wished it will just stop for a moment, giving him a minute to take a deep breath and get a grip on himself.