In the quiet of his room, he wondered and wandered. Through a life of hardships and a few smiles here and there. He walked the road of his life. From the child neglected and forgot, to the adult who loved and lost. Between the two was experience.
He remembered his first kiss, soft and quick, stolen from a girl with blond hair. What was her name? He wished he could recall. He remembered his first fight, a boy not liking how he dressed. What was his name? He wished he could remember. He remembered his first love, and how he lost her. He remembered the bad things done to him, the religion thrust upon him, the beatings, the pain.
He let himself go through it all again, looking desperately for the smiles. He remembered her face, he remembered them all. He remembered falling for his wife and the times they shared. He remembered how love was, even if it left. He saw his first child, his second, his third, and smiled with hope. The images of his children, the love without reason, but such warmth. He remembered when his wife left and when his children became busy. The smiles faded and he kept wondering.
He remembered the first cut. He remembered when he walked into the frozen lake. He remembered when all was lost and never found. He remembered never being good enough, never feeling needed or wanted.
He remembered so much in the dark. He let himself cry, great sobs of self-pity. He felt the pain in his chest and the hurt deep in his heart. He called out to the man lost, but couldn’t remember his name, in the quiet of his room.