My journeying is over. The cities and their memories lie behind me, all in a sort of delirious blur. I can’t say if I enjoyed myself or not—I just know I was alone in a different place.

Sadness and the same emptiness return, symbolised by the empty room I come back to. Again and again.

I drank. I became intoxicated. I felt the warmth. I wanted to continue. But after all the time wasted on that sort of false reliance, I knew it was a waste of time. I wandered aimlessly around the streets that were all too familiar—the greyness of the day, the seemingly endless rows of takeaways, pubs, and convenience stores. The raised voices, the sound of sighing traffic. I was back home.

The one I wanted, I didn’t find. I kept to myself. It’s the same everywhere. I feel uncomfortable. Ostracised. Avoided. I felt lost. I always feel lost. I’m never at peace.

There were so many faces. So many people. Living life. Outside the chamber of their own minds. Relaxed. At ease.

I don’t like myself. I never will. But I’ll carry on. I know I won’t win. But here’s to tomorrow.