Last month, I attempted a short piece, wherein I wanted to depict a mood, a pose. What follows below is a continuation, another attempt to speak, to convey a state.
He kept on looking at the sky long after she was gone. However, he soon realized that he was not looking at anything. He was staring but not seeing anything. He felt like being stuck there and then quite suddenly bored. He was somehow acutely aware of his own existence. He turned his back to the window and his eyes caught the impression that she had left behind on the soft chair in the corner. He felt he could not remember her face, only her long dark brown hair, and her eyelashes, which strangely appeared wet. He felt distracted and looked around his room, at the read, half-read and unread books on the shelves. He took a step forward and automatically lit up a cigarette. He suddenly seemed distant from himself and from his surroundings. He went towards the framed mirror on the near wall and looked at himself. He had not changed. He saw his face and thought it might not be his. His actions appeared mechanical somehow. He was aware of his breathing and his heart beating. He went back towards the window and leant out again, at the sky. The stars were still there and the moon was shining bright, fleeing across bits of cloud. He thought he saw faces and strange patterns on them, an old woman's face, a crooked nose, a heart. He had a feeling as if time had stopped and he was being strangled. He felt estranged from everything. He was suddenly frightened, anxious. He desperately wanted to think of something but could not think of anything.