The man sat at the table, or rather, atop the surface. Humming in his ears were the soundwaves of ages before, which led him to muse up whether to complete his task. In hand he held a letter, and the same hand violently shook like a thousand earthquakes. He muttered to himself the lyrics of his favorite song, "is this soliloquy or psychosis...or self-hypnosis?" Truthful words coming from a mind that had been pushed past the point of breaking. And his thoughts drifted to a time now gone, but one that could be regained within a moment. His eyes darted back and forth, observing the many familiar faces before him, but his heart stopped momentarily lest he not find the one he sought. But lo! The face of she who he loved appeared in the sea of monotony as a shining light, a beacon to a ship lost in a fog of sorrow. His already taxed mentality struggled to find the phrases locked away inside his head. Syllables and consonants flew and swirled around inside his subconscious, but the few words he uttered revealed the pain that imprisoned him on a daily basis. She departed from his sight, the letter clutched in hand. He breathed out, a long, extended sigh that rattled the bones of his chest. And the man sat at the table, or rather atop the surface.
I shall leave it up to the readers to interpret this.
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