Things could be better.

Sometimes, when he thought this, he felt weak.

Who was he to complain about his life? He had a job and was healthy, what more could he ask for?

A lot more is the right answer.

So he leaves, because that's all he's good for.

And she cries because that's all she ever does.

As he walks down the endless road, to an unknown destination, he is struck.

By a kid. A rather cocky fifteen or sixteen-year-old. There he is with his friends, smirking and swearing. Smoking because hey, it's just that cool.

And he feels a peculiar emotion, now, alone, in the dark.

Like that kid is him.

Him with the baggy pants and the drugs.

Him with the pretty girls.

Him with all the time in the world, yet no time at all.

Him, the one. And. Only.

It's not the pollution, fresh in the air, that's clearing his mind. It's not the cars that whiz by or the loudness of people. It's just something he thought of, right at that very special moment. Nothing poetic. No big revelation on that one teenager, who reminded him of himself. Just a thought, inspired by the city. Inspired by everything really. But he considered it.

And stepped back inside the door.

And silence engulfed him.

She was there, sleeping baby in her arms.

She stared at him. Something akin to adoration filled her eyes.

But he never looked at her.

Not even once.

More at the child than anything else.

He didn't want this child to be him.

So he stayed.

Even though leaving was all he was good for.

And she cried because that's all she will ever do.

Yes, things could be better.

But they could always be worse.

Yeah I know this is all pretty gay but who really cares. I will try to write humor next time. I don't really like all the angsty crap I've written so far. Which is only like two…but still… anyway I should really be finishing my homework (and starting it for that matter)… but I DON'T WANT TO. I'm not even sure if it makes sense… so um yeah… feedback is always appreciated. Keep in mind this isn't edited and, well I wrote it a year ago.