Wasted and Wounded

The instrument was out of tune, the notes coming out as jarring imitations of their real beauty. Somehow it was fitting. As Robin idly pecked at the keys of his piano he wondered how his life was going to continue.

He loved his wife. For her part, she loved him. Unfortunately for Robin, love wasn’t enough for Julie. She said she no longer knew what she wanted in life. Other than no longer wanting Robin, of course. He couldn’t imagine a world without her. The fact that he could not imagine it had no bearing on the matter, however. Just because one doesn’t believe in something doesn’t make it any less real, and Robin no longer had any choice but to live the unbelievable.

So there he sat, hunched over the ivories, head in hand, the discordant melody echoing throughout the room. He reached for his gin and tonic. It had warmed considerably since its creation a half an hour ago. The flavor was gone, diluted by the melted ice. Robin found it oddly fitting. Finishing the drink, he stood to pour himself another.

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