He took a deep breath and sighed. He needed a walk. Time to contemplate his own life.
He lit a cigarette, hearing a fading saxophone in the distance as he walked. The moon was full, and the lights made shadows-shadows as dark as the endless turmoil in his mind.
He saw something in the distance. Distracted, he burnt his fingers on his failing cigarette. Lighting a new one, he inhaled deeply, feeling the relaxation. He exhaled, emitting a cloud of smoke that worked intricate patterns into the wind.
His shell was indeed hollow. He couldn't quite fill it. What was the solution? How could he fill it? He gazed deeply into the distance. Love. But how could he love anyone? When he didn't even love himself? He shouted into the abyss, letting out his anger and frustration. But it wasn't enough. He couldn't solve it. What was the purpose of his life?
He tried filling this hollowness he felt in his chest. Smoking worked at first, but smoke always mingled with the air quickly. He turned for companionship but he did not long for it as well. How could anyone understand what he felt? He felt a momentary respite when the bitter cold air slapped his face as he walked aimlessly on the path of life.
For the pain aided him. Brought him back to reality. But what reality was this? Where he could not truly feel the warmth of another? For a simple touch only lasted for so long. The emotional ties were what gave meaning. But who would want someone like him? A broken soul, a decommissioned soldier? He was unwanted. But he wanted more.
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