17— His Insight. 

17— His Insight.

“It is so simple to be happy yet

so difficult to be simple.”

Four hours later.

There, he sat on the counter in the kitchen, barely sober. With an almost non-touched plate of noodles kept beside him, a plate full of ashes in the ashtray, and two empty bottles of three-year-old Irish whisky laid horizontally near his thigh, he continued to smoke and get intoxicated without pause. The emotional pain he felt was too much to endure in this state. Putting the lean stick inside his mouth, he inhaled, lying down on his back on the oak table along with his spare hand at the back of his head.

“Fuck!” He roared angrily. “Damn it!”

With a scathing look in his eyes at the burning cigarette that his fingers held, he muttered,

“Why does she have to defy my way every damn time?” Gasping the smoke out through his nose, “Why not for once she could do as she is told without me having to force her into listening to me?” He spoke out loudly in frustration, rubbing his face with force.