Days like these, he thought, they never seem to end.

There's always a rush to get to the starting point,
and then... there's nothing.
Just a big, uncontrollable emptiness.

As if there were something that should've been there,
presented with a smile and punch in the gut...
... or a knife in the back.
It doesn't really matter.
I mean, it never actually happened,
every possible eventuality should be accurate.
This, only because it's alternative is nothing at all.

It's always a build-up,
a construction put in place by oneself
for a reason that is always unknown.

This of course would change if nothing ever would not be there,
substituted with a something of equal, of more or of less value.

A grain of sand would be moving in the right direction.
The question then, towards what?

The moment passed by as moments do.
Nothing has really changed, but the moment passed by.
Thoughts replaced themselves with other thoughts,
and he thought of silence for a bit...
... and then, of sleep.

/