Boulevard of Broken Dreams (see what I did there?)

Closed his suitcase, put on his coat;
It's always windy at the start of the road
His hair a mess, his heart a load
Of barely suppressed melancholy.

A last hungry look at his room before
Leaving forever... he felt sick and sore.
He shuffled slowly towards the door
Out of his house, his home, his life.

And how ironic did it feel to him then
How long was the walk to the door, but again...
He used to cross it in two strides when
He wasn't weighed down with his thoughts.

The wind blew air, crisp and bold
Countless clouds cast gloom untold
The rain beat at him, both wet and cold...
Just the way he liked it.

A fitting tribute; a farewell too grim
A sunless sky, its light so dim.
The foreshadowing wasn't lost on him...
The heavens themselves were weeping.

As if on cue, his sadness grew
Here's an interesting dilemma for you:
Should you feel loved, or lonely and blue
If your faithful friends were ice and gloom?

He beseeched the skies in mute appeal,
He begged to stay, but he could feel
The ice-cold rain on his face, like steel
And knew his silent plea was rejected.

"This is not your place", he could hear them say
You've never belonged and you cannot stay.
If you so wish, you can visit one day...
but then you shall return to your lonely road.

He lifted his head; gave a wordless cry,
Of pain and fury, his voice so high.
His fate was cruel, he knew not why...
This path was chosen for him.

He calmed himself and took a deep breath
And searched for his pride in his icy depths
He knew this lonely road was his death...
But he'd go there with his head held high.

And so he set out, on his lonely road
At a brisk pace, which never slowed.
This wasn't the happy ending he was owed...
But he wasn't going down without a fight.

The Empty Room

He entered the room hesitantly, anxious of who he would find inside. He had grown to expect it to be empty, so he wasn't sure what he was hoping for... but as his eyes swept the empty room from left to right and back again, he realized that he had been holding his breath and that his body had involuntarily tensed into a wary primal crouch; a fighting stance he couldn't quite justify. Furious with himself, he straightened up and took a deep breath. He shouldn't have been so apprehensive after so many years... He should have stopped caring by now.

No one was there. But more to the point, she wasn't there either.

Just to be sure, he crossed the room and checked the lock on the door that led into the second, smaller room which hadn't been open for years... And even though he was relieved that the lock still seemed intact and the door securely closed, a small part of him hoped the door would swing open and she would burst through. He banished these thoughts as mercilessly as one would kick a puppy... There was no place for them.

He thought back on all the times he'd done the same thing over the years, every day like clockwork. At first he never seemed to notice the second door; the room was always occupied by at least one visitor, not all of whom stayed for very long. Some would stay for a few months, others would stay for a few years. There were a few who stayed for days, or even hours in some cases. In more than once case there were two visitors at the same time, but they never stayed too long and they always left in the end. Everyone eventually left, abandoning him to this cold, lonely room which was starting to feel more and more like a doctor's waiting room by the day.

Except her, of course. She was in the second room, and didn't seem to be in a hurry to leave.

As the years went by, his visitors steadily diminished and grew less frequent, but scarcely a month went by without him hosting someone for at least a few days... And worryingly in such cases, when she ended up leaving like they always did, lately he'd caught himself wondering if someone else would come in... If maybe that was it; and that he would never again walk into this room to see someone waiting for him, smiling and happy to see him.

Sometimes he tried to re-decorate the room in a futile effort to add a more personal touch and make it a less miserable place to be, but there was very little he could do; the room was painted a sterile white; there were no windows; and even when he replaced the leather desk chairs with some cheerfully colorful couches to make the place more friendly, they seemed bizarrely out of place in this black and white nightmare. The room seemed specifically designed as a waiting room; a staging area where no one was allowed to settle in and call it home. Some of the visitors occasionally added some personal touches here and there in an admirable attempt to settle in, but the room remained cold and uninviting, despite their best intentions... And when they left, the little mementos that remained of their efforts somehow made the room even sadder, so he always removed them.

Until they stopped visiting altogether.

More and more days would pass between visits until one day, when it had been a month since he had seen someone in the room, it dawned on him. He realized what was happening. The room had finally pushed away even the most enthusiastic and optimistic of its temporary occupants, dooming him to stay alone in that depressing room, like an angry parent sentencing their child to a time-out to think about what they'd done... Except he had no idea what he'd done or why he deserved to be punished in such a brutal manner. He could never bear to stay in the room for more than a few days himself, but that was because it left him so much time to overthink and obsess, so he made it a point to leave the room and only pass by once a day to check if someone had come calling. As the days went by, he became less and less disappointed when he saw the empty room; he'd grown to expect it.

Until one day he inexplicably, unforgivably started toying with the idea of opening the locked door. He knew that if he opened the floodgates, the metaphorical flood would drown him, but he couldn't see how even that would be worse than being alone in that room any longer.

And when he started having these thoughts, it was like the spell was broken. Memories, images and feelings he'd had no idea he still had came rushing back, filling him with melancholy and a deep, aching longing more intense than anything he'd ever felt from the countless visitors who'd passed by this room. Even though he was shivering on the outside, he suddenly felt warm and fulfilled... the same feeling one would get when drinking a steaming mug of hot chocolate as a snow storm raged outside their window.

But there was pain as well. A wound he'd thought had healed a long time ago was still stubbornly open, and the years had made it fester until somehow he knew it would never heal properly. But as painful as it was, it was invigorating as well; he felt more alive in those few seconds than he'd felt in all the years he'd lived since he'd locked the door.

Finally, something clicked in his mind. Come hell or high water, he owed it to himself to open that door. As long as a part of him still clung to her, he would never be free. The room would forever remain cold, because he made it cold. He didn't allow anyone in because he was afraid he might have to lock them up in that second room.

A fury he had never known in his life took him at that moment. He would be damned if he lost the battle just because he didn't try... with a trembling hand, he reached out and unlocked the door. Wordlessly, he mouthed a last prayer, and then turned the handle and pulled the door open.

And then he drowned, as he always knew he would... But at least the room had an occupant now.

And at least he tried.