Story: Goodbye He sat up on his bed, getting up from a yet another sleepless night. Sleep, oh that old friend. It had not come to visit it him in a very long time. Black bags lay under his eyes, signifying the terrible state of mind he was in. Closing his eyes he breathed in. Passing a hand through his messy brown hair, he slid off the bed and into some shoes. With a tight grip on the night stand aside his bed, he gets up slowly. Weak, vulnerable, he made his way to the small kitchen in his apartment. His lone apartment. Licking his lips, he needed a drink. But no, he did not want water; he wanted something to take away the pain. This man wanted something strong enough to drown his sorrow and pain. Not bothering to do anything, he just grabbed his jacket and headed out the door, slamming it behind him. The echo of the slam still played in his head and made him cringe. The hang over from last night was not over yet, but that did not stop him from going back for more. The sound of his feet hitting the pavement was distant. As if it was not him walking, but a ghost. As if he was just walking on a cloud, a grey cloud of horrific dreams and painful memories. Making his way to the near-by bar, he did what he had been trying to avoid; He remembered. Her sweet smell, her innocent smile and the story behind her deep eyes. He remembered her touch, her lips, and the pleasure that came from them. Closing his eyes for a split second, he tried to feel her touch again. Yet, it wasn’t the same… Sitting down on a stool, the man asked for the usual. For weeks he had been coming here, every day, non-stop. “Allen…” sighed the bartender looking at the broken man. Barely 26 and already he looked older than 70. He looked like he had lived a full life. “The usual Tim” Allen spoke. His voice as cold as the winter breeze. The only time he had spoken with a sweet matter, was when he had been with her. She had been the only one who could make his heart race, who could make him beg, who could make him speak with the voice of an angel. Tim nodded and gave Allen what he wanted. With a firm grip, he took the drink and poured it down his throat. Oh the bitterness. The taste of sorrow. He felt as it burned down his neck and to his stomach. Allen asked for another one, and then another, and then another, until he couldn’t feel the tip of his fingers. “Allen, you should be home now” Tim said, helping Allen up from the seat, but Allen resisted his help. “I s