There are nights loneliness bites me like the winter wind. Like tonight. Oceans away from everything I call home, in a job I hate more than I love, all I want is to be in the familiar embrace of my old room’s walls, in friendly chats and laughter, in the warm cuddle of the woman I love.

Nights like this, Boy Spyce’s Dreams blaring from my headset, drowns my longing. His voice, heavy with nostalgia, ferries me back home. Nights like this, I’m Jesus in Gethsemane, drinking from the cup life has fated me. I step into the night fog, dreams on my back, hot coffee in hand, and I sing along to Boy Spyce. Tonight isn’t the night I break.

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