As she’s lying on her side recalling the faces of everyone she’s ever slept with, I’m stood looking out the window imagining what it would feel like to be on the other side of the horizon. All those lights that shimmer as they’ve done so many times over the years, and not once have I taken the plunge to see where they could lead. Watching over her as she struggles with her neurosis, I’m tempted to offer sympathy, but I let her suffer in silence. Such cruelty when compassion and forgiveness are needed most, but her sins are none of my concern. Opening the window and sticking my head out, the evening air is warm and balmy. With empty streets touching the darkened sky in every direction, things are much the same as they’ve always been, only now I’m more focused on what matters most. Others come and go, and although they have a way of touching my heart, they don’t touch me like they used to. People are bemusing, and the more I understand them, the less they mean to me. Lighting a smoke while hunched up as far away from her as possible, the star’s glisten like grains of sand, and that’s pretty much what they are. It’s what we all are. Just pieces of dust. How is it possible to attribute meaning to such a meaningless existence? How can we feel as if we’re achieving something when we know so little about what’s out there? Imagining a future where I become untethered from all that ties me to this place, a wry smile runs across my dry and broken lips.