This, too, shall pass, as everything always does. [my father takes leave, walks out on me... ever again. he might be back tomorrow tho'... for a bit of hot breakfast and ease from the solitude that knaws at us both] Today, I am melancholy. And there isn't even any alcohol around to drown me up, no cigarettes to stifle my breathing. There is only this, this half-life, this near-death that beckons me ever tantalizingly. I want to be all the way there, I want to cease the numb suffering within my being. But no, not yet. My time hasn't come. And it feels to me as though it never will...