His body ached in ways he had forgotten it could. How long had it been since he last went for a run this long? He was sure it was months at least, but the pain that had taken hold of his lungs as they begged for air was too great to really figure it out in his head. If he didn't know better, he would be sure he was dying. He wasn't dying, but that hardly mattered at the moment. His head was swimming; it was hard to concentrate on anything, making it ironic that he went on this run to clear his head. He wanted to think about things, be alone, and get exercise, and the best way he knew to do that was to go for a run.

He could only guess how long it had been since he left his house, and he wasn't completely sure how far he had gone. Judging by the sun, it had been nearly an hour since he left. It was always easier to tell the passage of time as the sun began to set late afternoon. He wiped the sticky sweat from his brow, not wanting it to trickle down into his eyes. The warm summer breeze hit his skin. He was glad the wind picked up a bit. Even if it was a warm breeze, it cooled him as it blew on his sweaty skin. It did nothing to release that sticky mat his shirt had become.

He half wondered what he was doing. Was he running away from his problems? Or was he simply running them down so they were easier to deal with? Possibly, he was just trying to tire himself so that he wouldn't have the strength to worry about things. People often told him not to worry, but he often thought that it was easier for them to say that than to live it. His sister often told him what would be would be, and he couldn't help but think that was another way of her telling him she had no idea. He released a heavy sigh and looked at his surroundings for the first time in a while. He was lost again.

Lost may not be the correct term, but it would be what most people would call him. He didn't think he was lost, merely unsure of his current location and what the best way to return home would be. He knew which direction home was, but he didn't know which streets would lead him there. Instead of taking the time to carefully map out in his head a course that would bring him home, he just picked a street and began walking. As far as he was concerned, he would find his way back as soon as things began to look familiar. Besides, he gave him more time to be alone.

In some ways it was strange that he craved being alone so much. He spent a good deal of time wishing he were not alone, but often dreamed of marriage. Of course marriage was rather impossible for him at the moment, for, besides multiple money problems that he was currently working on solving, he was also at present incredibly single. That fact alone often prevented him from such things like dates and cuddling and the like. It was often reported to him that it was not that he was not attractive, nor was it that he was a bad person, but rather he had yet to find the right girl, or woman in this case, that would love him for him and be his one and only. He couldn't help but notice his very same such advice came from people who were married and he felt they may be a tad bit bias in their opinions on the subject.

He shook his head, wondering why his mind had returned to relationships and the want of them. That was not the reason for his run. No, something else was bothering him. Sure, the want of a girlfriend had often driven him to long runs and even longer walks, but not today. Today was special. No, today he was trying to decide why he has his longing in his heart. He had felt like something was missing for some time, and he wasn't exactly sure what it was. Not too much had changed recently, nor had he had some break-up or ugly fight. It had just been, lately, he felt a longing that bit at his very soul. It was like a part of him was missing. Not that it had been ripped away, but rather that it was never there to begin with. It was like a hunger no food could satisfy, a longing no music could cure. He would lay awake at night, longing for something he could not obtain. He wanted something so badly, but he was not sure what it could be.

He had ruled out guilt some time ago. He had, at first, thought that maybe he had done something that he felt guilty about and his conscience would not leave him peace with which to sleep. He was wrong however. He knew it was not guilt for he had looked deep within and found nothing. Actually, no soul searching was done, he had just thought at length about his deeds in the past few months, and he knew that he had tried to find forgiveness for his wrongs. Guilt was not the answer. So the solution had to be elsewhere.

It was not that he wasn't tired. Overly tired was more like it. He found himself falling asleep at all hours of the day. Evening would roll around, and suddenly, his energy would come from nowhere and he would be unable to sleep most of the night. He had tried exercise, reading, eating, drinking water, everything he could think of. It may be worry that keeps him awake, he had thought, but his worrying spells came on and off so they were less likely the case.

While lost in thought, he somehow found himself at home. He wondered how he had managed the feat, so lost in thought as he was. He wondered if homing pigeons experienced the same thing. He looked behind himself, simply to see if anyone had followed him. As usual, no one had. He let out a sigh. Part of him had wished someone had followed him. He could rush inside, maybe fumble with his key a bit. He thought of the panic he could work his body into. What if someone had followed him? Maybe they wanted to rob him, or worse? He was already safe inside his home, getting ready to shower. Yet he couldn't stop thinking about the what ifs. Maybe they weren't following him, just some homeless man bumming his way through town, or some crazy person that had arguments with himself. And that is when it donned on him. He wanted a change. Not a change of clothes, but a change. He want to not feel the hurt he sometimes did, and he really wanted the migraines to go away. For now, he would have to settle with a shower.

He awoke with a start to the sound of raindrops softly tapping at his window. He let out a small sigh as he rubbed the back of his head, fingers running through his hair. He slid his hand to his neck and scratched. He needed to shave. It had been nearly a week since a razor has last grazed his skin and removed the stubble, but he hated shaving.

Staring blankly at the window across the room, he saw that it was raining outside, but only barely. It was a small, summer shower. The kind that sometimes passed only to moisten the ground, and at other times raged into a storm. It was too early to tell which kind of shower this was. It hardly mattered either way. There had been enough rain lately, so he wouldn't be bothered with either outcome.

He reached for the glass of water on his nightstand. He fumbled a bit with it and spilled half of what was left on himself and his bed. It wasn't much. He had been drinking ice water to try and nurse away a headache. The glass wasn't quite empty when he was finally felt brave enough to try and find the sleep that had eluded him on this night. It's not that his head didn't hurt, it still did very much so, but he just wanted to sleep. He had heard earlier that day someone saying that headaches are not actually your head hurting, but your eyes telling you that your head hurt and something about blind people never getting headaches. Guy had said something about the brain having no nerve endings to be in pain. At this point, he was convinced that guy had no idea what he was talking about. All he knew for sure at that moment is that he had finally gotten to sleep and now he is awake again, still in pain. The pain was either so bad that the rest of his body was nearly numb to all sensation, or his brain was too overcome with the pain to really be bothered with much else.

Whatever the case, he took a sip of his water, not knowing if it was still cold or simply room temperature. He didn't care either way. As soon as the water, whatever temperature it was, hit his stomach, the sensation of wanting to vomit came again. He rushed to the bathroom, nearly tripping on his own clutter. The only thought he had as he tried so hard to either puke his guts out or not was something along the lines of not knowing how people can drink themselves to this state. He, as a matter of fact, had no alcohol in his system. He had once mused, during a time which his head did not feel as if it were on fire, that if his body would betray him this way on a normal basis, why in the world would he ever need to get himself drunk and possibly experience the so-called "hangover." He did not think of that now, however, he was too busy attempting to decide if it was better to puke or to resist puking. By the time he had made up his mind, it was too late and his body had decided for him.

Resting his head on the cool toilet seat, he was glad that the heavings had stopped. Any other time, he would have made a quiet joke to himself about how close his face was to the toilet, but not today. The toilet was to be respected for it's overall coolness. The raindrops could be heard loudly in the windowless bathroom. The shower had broken into a storm. He laughed a bit to himself. If anyone else would have heard that laugh, they would have thought he had gone crazy. He hadn't gone crazy, no. He had an idea.

Too weak to continue, he decided to ignore the pain and press on. Even though the headache was racking his body and sapping his strength, he would make one last stand. He forced himself up and out the door. Before long, he was outside, in the rain. It was the early morning and no one was awake to see the man, half crazy with pain, standing in the rain, getting soaked.

No one really understood what it was like when these headache came on him. There was a transformation at the time, similar, in a fashion, to the transformation of Dr. Jekyll into Mr. Hyde. Yet, instead of changing stature and such, the man's personality changed. He became single minded on one thing, to rid himself of the pain. He had tried in the past to wound himself to see if that would lessen the pain, to drink whiskey to try and kill the pain, anything. He became a beast in his own right. At the times he was not the beast, he had come to believe he was simply serving penance for the beast of rage that he harbored all the rest of the time. In his mind, he was simply trading one beast for another. One was a destructive monster that was always kept caged. The other was more of a single-minded brute that had one goal that it worked for and all other tasks were only completed if they could get him closer to his ease.

He had taken to drinking hard liquor now and then. He hated the taste of beer, but loved alcohol. Not to get drunk, he abhorred drunkenness, but to get slightly numb. He drank just enough to numb himself. Not numb physically, and not really emotionally. He was to calm the beast he felt was caged inside of him. He had a taste for things like whiskey and rum, anything that would kick your teeth in. He knew that some disapproved, and others who didn't know would be against it, but he didn't care. He was sure even the ones who knew would be against his reasons. Yet he would still continue from time to time to mix himself a drink or two. He could pretend it was to numb himself from bad memories, but the truth is he wanted to numb himself from simply being bad. Part of him wished the rain would wash part of him away.

Move
Take that first step
Set your feet on the ground
And move

Breathe
Let go of that which holds your chest
wake up for the first time and
Just breathe

Look
At yourself in the mirror
Find the heart that lives inside
So look

Set the old man on fire
And burn the heart anew
From the ashes rise again
And be born the man new