It was the fear of being alone that scared Winston the most. Not dying on his deathbed or being killed by circumstance. The thought of living for nothing scared him. He woke up promptly in the morning, ran his two mile around the city and prepared for work. He arrived ten minutes prior to the office and spent the next ten hours at the computer. He would eat at his desk and while others would watch the draft prospects for the next season’s NFL teams, Winston would stare at his afternoon spreadsheets. He would leave work at six, an hour after everyone had already left, and drive home to his studio to stare at the wall or the glow of his Lenovo laptop.
But it was at night when he thought about the empty side of his mattress. The meals shared alone. The moments, watching the dial of the clock move right by him. It was only then that he realized that his fear was his own undoing, and his sadness a burden that he could never escape. There was no one to blame for the silence except himself.