There was an odd sound coming from the twenty years old ceiling, but he couldn't care less. He stayed in his bed for hours now, accompanied by the darkness and chill of the night breeze. The moon looks especially lovely tonight, but nothing came into his mind to disturb the long lost tranquility he's been seeking.
The room was put in place, but the music that haunting the surrounding made like the curtains slowly dancing to classical beat.
"Bach, what a tragic melody," he said.
He closed his eyes shut, whispering and mumbling the words of loneliness. He smothered himself in agony, in pain, in everything what the past presenting him now; a sole regret.
He wished for love, for a companion, but what he has left only a glass of obsolete wine and a pack of cigarette.
"Valentine O dear Valentine, where art thou?"
He looked throughout the window pane, into the black pitch night sky, as empty as his soul.
In this menthol scented room, he smoked all his problems away.
