Maybe someday you’ll look up and, barely conscious, you’ll say to no one ‘isn’t something missing?’

I can still remember the day I realized I no longer cared. Well, this wasn’t necessarily 100% true, but for the most part, for pretty much the most important part, I well and truly no longer cared. It’s mid-December 2016, and I was scheduled to attend a concert up north, and then afterwards I was to submit my review of it to a webzine I sporadically wrote for back then. But before I travelled northwards, I had things to do. It was my son’s birthday, so we had dinner together, and then I took him home. When I was making my way home, I was talking to a girl I was sort of involved with at the time, and around one a.m. or so, I was meeting Silvia near where I lived, and we went to a motel to have sex. It wasn’t great, it wasn’t spectacular, and I’ve always known and felt that I was unworthy of her. I knew it would be our one time being together, ever. We stayed together in the dark for a few hours, but she had to go home to her husband. Before we got dressed though, I took a long, last look at her naked body, and I sang to her a bit from a Leonar Cohen song : ‘Your hair upon the pillow like a sleepy golden storm’. Soon enough we kissed goodbye, she gave me her scarf - something I still have -  and that was the end of that story. 

I didn’t get any sleep that night - as early as I could, I hopped on a train and went up. I’m sure I slept all throughout the roughly three hour trip.

When I arrived, I knew I had things to do, I had places to go. I went to my hostel and dropped off my stuff, recharged for a bit, then got on a train again, this time to travel a bit further north, so I could soak in the peaceful greenery of a catholic shrine in the outskirts of the city. There I sat for a couple of hours - reading one of Peter Hook’s books - and slowly I started making my way back. I elected to rest for a bit when I got back to the hostel, then I went for a meal just around the corner, there’s this place that specializes on Celtic cuisine, and I always go there whenever I’m around. I went back to my hostel, took a shower and then went for a long walk through the city’s riverside, taking in the city lights by night. I’m listening to Lana Del Rey, and when she sings ‘I feel so alone on a Friday night’, I begin to cry. 

Alone, I sit by the river. For some reason I’m reminded of ‘Brideshead Revisited’, and I make a mental note to temeras it one day. I walk around some more, drink a bit, then go back to the hostel. It’s one of those with pods embedded on the walls, and there’s nothing but a flimsy piece of cloth covering each pod’s entrance. Mine’s the upper one, I climb a ladder up to it, and instantly realize when I take my headphones off that the couple beneath me is fucking. The girl moans like no one else is present, and I think to myself, ‘Jesus lady, calm down’, then feel bad because it was stupid of me to think that, and I put my headphones on back again, and fall asleep to something or the other.

I wake up early next day, and decide to have breakfast somewhere. But funnily enough, what happens is that I wind up going to a big park in the city instead. It’s a bleak, cold winter’s day, the sky grey and sterile. As I walk through the park, 9 a.m. just coming up, I start to feel empty. No, that’s not right, I was empty already. I allowed emptiness to overcome me. I felt the morning’s chill on my face as I walked along the tree lines, and people ambled through the park. There, a couple pushes a pram slightly uphill, drunk on happiness. Crossing my path, a young woman, very very pretty, locks eyes with me. I wanted to say ‘good morning’, or nod my head at her, but my eyes turned forward. I felt a void within me that I no longer had strength to keep at bay. 

Most of the day is spent idling until it’s time for me to prepare for the gig. I give it my all - bare as it may be. I shave, I take a shower and put on a dash of perfume. I know what I’m going to wear that night, in fact I knew as soon as I was assigned the gig. In a sea of people clad in black, I’d the guy wearing blue jeans and a white t-shirt. And not just any white t-shirt, mind. I was still fit back then, so I wore my New Order ‘Substance’ t-shirt. I take a look at myself in the mirror.  I look good. I know I did. It was the last time I looked like that. It’s now time to make my way down to the venue, and I walk down the streets leisurely - it’s only about ten minutes or so anyway. When I get to the venue, I start seeing familiar faces. I meet up with a few acquaintances, trade a few kind words with them and others I know from around, visit the merch booth, then when the time comes, we all go inside.

I take my leave from the small party that accompanied me - I had to stay at the back, so I could observe what was going on stage, and because there were some high top tables near the bar area, I chose that spot so I could jot down whatever I felt of note for my upcoming review. I remained focused on what was going on stage - I mostly ignored the opening act, and then paid much more attention to the main act, a Swedish band called Covenant. It felt as if I was watching the gig somewhat from a distance. I was there, but I wasn’t there. Not really. Not in any way that mattered.

So the concert came and went, and I met up with the people I knew. Soon they were on their way, and there I was - all by myself. On my way to the hostel I stopped by a drugstore that was open and bought the meds from my regular prescription. What was walking up the road was a dead man walking. It wasn’t me, I had stayed behind, years ago. I saw myself walking up that street, I felt its emptiness, I saw as it typed a half-assed review. I knew, even before he did, that I had decided to die that night.