He read the note and his heart tried to lift attempting to feel just a smidgen of hope, as the note intended, but no. Still nothing.
"Where has the boy i used to see in the mirror gone to?"
The expression on his face is an expression he wears every moment of every day, except for moments such as these. The street lamps are dimming, the sweepers have swept, the world is sound asleep, everyone but him it seemed. It was in these moments, and these moments only, that he felt anything at all. It was here in those dark and peaceful moments, when he was sure the world could not and would not see him, that a tear trickled from his sad, worn eyes, dampening the way for a flow of regret, torment, hurt, unanswered questions, loss, pain, innocence, confusion, love, hate, and anger rocking him gently preparing him for the immanent sleep. Praying that it will be his last slumber he wakes to start the process all over again.
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