He sat in the shadows, nursing his misery with a chemical dependence he could not combat. He had sunk, in a few months, from the heights of Mount Everest to a depression so deep and heavy that without these fermented liquids; he would surely be crushed by the pressure of all that was above him. God, how he wanted that happiness again, just for a moment as fleeting even as the flight of a butterfly across the Garden of Eden. Just a second where in he could smile and say again, this is bliss.
Somehow he felt a kinship with the other people in the tavern, tonight though, he could not share in their happiness; it drove him further away. Some celebration drove the patrons to a frenzy of joyous revelry. Drunk on life and a liquor so sweet that the gods came down to join them. Their bacchanal dance about him; dancing in praise of the benevolence of all that was and is, rejoicing in life, in love, and in all that they had, and all that he did not.
Still he was there sitting in that corner alone, as he had for so long: in the shadows, covered in the dark misery of the dark clouds that filled his soul, that were his live. The wine god had forgotten him tonight; had forgotten him always. There was nothing left of him, except this brooding, this lack of anything but pain. He could not escape it; this was his life now.
Soon he knew even his bottle would not be able to save him. So he sat, preparing for depression, for another night alone among the faceless masses that made the ebb and flow in this little tide pool of life. He was the only constant thing here. He sat and watched as the people came and went, as the drunks stumbled in and out with the change they had found on the street, as the celebrations rose and fell with the seasons, as the weary travelers rested their sore bones and revived themselves with a pint of mead, as the warriors told their stories of heroic adventures, and the maidens they saved swooned with love and pride, as life passed him by. He sat, alone; this was his life now.
It was times like this he wondered how he'd ever let it get this far; where he slipped; when he kicked the rock that had started this avalanche. He wondered, the thought that disturbed him most: Had he ever been as high as, as happy, as he had believed? Then he wondered if he was really depressed; if loneliness could make anyone feel as low as he did that night.
So long ago, all his friends left him. Many had died; some had simply gone away never to be seen again. Perhaps they too had found this corner in some tavern, perhaps they too felt the anguish of loss, perhaps one day, they would find him; make him happy again.
One, the person who made his life worthwhile, he pushed so far away that she would never return. In this, he grieved the most. In this, he was suffocated by a pain that not even the strongest of men could endure.
He missed her most, missed speaking to her, just to hear her voice. Her eyes sparkling at him with a love only they could share. He missed her hair in summer, the way the sun glinted red in her auburn locks. He missed the soft touch of her skin against his. He missed her lips against his, as if they were made for each other, as if naught in the world but they existed. He missed her friendship; missed just being with her ? missed her. He would have given anything, tried to give everything, to get just that back, just her friendship, just a kind word, just a thoughtful embrace. He lost her. He was alone.
He swallowed some of the clear liquid, let the burning subsided, and remembered her, remembered everything they had shared. The nights, the days, the walks under the stars, her walking with someone else holding that other mans had. He smiled softly, her happiness, it made him so joyous, and at the same time, the pain wrenched his heart closed; that she would never love him again; that he would never fall out of love with her.
The same old thoughts returned to his fractured memory. The moment she left his arms; told him they were just friends. He remembered her finding another. He remembered pushing her afraid of what that other man meant, afraid of being replaced - then being replaced, and having no control over it.
He was trying to regain something he couldn't, trying to live with something that burned his soul with more pain and jealousy than he had ever known. He remembered the day he stopped hiding it, the floodwaters rushed out from his dam of emotions, and drowned everything. Drowned her, swept her away, drowned him in a bottle of something, anything, just so long as it took away the pain. It didn't.
His mind wandered, over pastures, through green valleys. He remembered all the adventures, all the things he had done, how it all came crashing down upon him. He was so lonely, and he understood. He missed her, he always would. He missed more simply talking, standing next to someone and saying, "Hello, how are you? Mighty fine weather we're having?"
This is what he longed for, through the sweat and rancor of days passed and days to come, just for one person to sit by him and say hello. For one person to join him in his misery; to push aside the curtain of darkness, and simply sit with him, that would be all he needed. He wished for it, thought in his mind, tried to will it to happen. The god's had forgotten him, his cries went unheard; they rang through the heavens with the booming voices of swallows. Thunderously silent misery, echoing through the clouds for all to hear, and none listened.
He sat alone. In a darkness that filled not only that corner, but his soul - his life. Solitude: it was his fate. A thousand people would pass by, and not see him - not care to see him. They did not want his sadness to infect him, and in avoidance, they caused his sadness. He sat knowing - knowing nothing would change. He sipped, pulled at the bottle, tried to forget, tried to stop the spinning, tried to make the world halt that he might stand up and say, "I AM HERE."
The world spun faster. The bottle fell further from his grasp. The people danced. Their bodies moved with sickening speed. He sat. His head rolled. He reached for the bottle. His hand did not make it. His body stopped. His heart gave up. His mind fell into eternal slumber. His soul watched the world end.
Alone, he fell into the soft embrace of death. His soul sat for a moment, watching the loneliness it had always known. Slowly, it departed, drifting towards the heavens, watching its old body sitting alone in the shadows of that tavern that had been home for so many months. Watching as his lost love sat down next its expired body, trying to kiss him once again as his soul vanished into the ether.