The black dog

I think it was late at night when we started to have this conversation. We were in my room, he was sitting on the coach and as the pale light of the lamp was half-lighting his face, I could tell that he was a bit distressed. As he started talking, his voice was suffocating, almost like his lungs would get depleted of air and with every word he would swallow more air in an effort to make the next sound work. He told me that he saw no point in living if living means so much suffering. “I felt so happy once and now I can vaguely recall those moments. What was the most important thing in my life now it’s just vague memories that I can not even remember it in all its splendor.”

I used all the wisdom that I knew and I answered him “You would not appreciate happiness if it wasn’t for the sorrow. One can not exist without the other”.

“I know what you mean but it’s not like that. I can have good times and I can feel just all right about life but most of the days i feel like a drag, like I’m just waiting for this day to pass and for the next one to come.”

“It’s pointless crawling through the day, feeling that life is just a race I have to get to the finish line. If life is only that, I see no point in being alive.”

My heart broke but I didn’t know how to comfort him. Is it just a temporary thing or it’s irreversible? Is he just going through a phase?

“Just wait a bit more” I said, hoping that things will somehow change.

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