He lays on top of his bed, lost in some dream. He brings his cigarette to his lips and the tip blossoms and crackles in the silent darkness. As his hand drifts back to rest on his stomach, the smoke slips thoughtfully from his mouth.
Melancholy is a sadness that slowly embraces the beautiful indifference of the universe; that moves in dense swirls from its point of origin, then slowly rises and hangs in the air before dissipating into nothingness.
He cannot afford a wedding. He cannot afford a bride. He cannot afford to buy the dress that will breathe life into the dreams of a young girl before they dissipate into the disappointment of adulthood. He cannot afford to mend his broken shoes.
His fiance lays next to him, naked, surrendered, her head resting on his shoulder, lost in some dream...
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