Dark Eyes

At night I try and remember why I left this place in the first place.
A specific reason, I mean.
Tossing, turning, wondering, wandering; waiting for the momment when things make sense.
A lot of things don't make sense. Questions lead to answers that are more questions.
Now I'm back home.
"Home."
Doesn't feel like home. But Home is relative, anyways.
I think I left home to find Home but in the end only found more questions. That and a deeper yearning.
Tonight I'm sitting in that huge open room with the skylight windows three stories big above me. Starring out at the stars and the bleak open space of night I wonder why, exactly, I left this place in the first place. And what I learned.
People scamper around.
Across from me a girl with dark, piercing features is starring in my direction with absolute lust filled to the brim in her eyes, and I'm flattered. I think to myself that there are more important things than sex, though, and think that I never thought I'd say that.
Away from her starving glare I'm looking for answers on a computer screen, sifting through the vastness that is the internet and finding only space and all of this makes me thirsty for a drink, I think, but wonder if I really want liquor and wine, or if water would do just fine.
The guys behind me tell each other how drunk they'll get come Friday, when their week is over, each one trying to one-up the other in a brinkmanship of envisioned binge drinking. Dark Eyes vodka is on their to-do list. Cheap, but whatever gets you there.
Friday nights can be better spent away from the watering hole, I think.
But what kind of statement is that? Stupid me. Friday nights are to be lived, experienced, where sex, lies, drugs, lust, life, liquor, feast and fortune come together and torch everything we hold pure and sacred - forgiven, in the end, because Sunday morning is right around the corner.
I've given up singing on Sunday.
God doesn't hear my song.
I think to myself that God has left me, truley, and that's a hard thought to think about so I turn my attention to the girl, passing, her perfume leaving a wake around me, filling my emptiness with... something. Lust is a lost life for me, as it should be.
Evening light seeps through the skylight.
Drifting in the night above is my mind.
Focusing on the task at hand I wonder what the task at hand really is.
Clouds gather above. Storm sounds. Rain beats down on the glass ceiling and echos through the caverness, empty, five-story building filled with written words and frustrated faces.
I'm a frustrated face feeling as empty as my surroundings.
Another girl walks past, nice legs, lips, eyes, hair, waist. Her dark eyes flow across me in my chair, yearning for that appetite that we all yearn for from the oppositte sex. Or the same sex, I think, and laugh, watching as a guy stares at me with the same look. I wonder if emptiness can be filled with lust and liquor.
It has before, in this place.
Things seem different now.
I left and now I'm back. Back to lust and liquor. Back to what I ran from and finding that I'm still running in an endless triatholon.
I left for all the right reasons. And landed back in the grasp of those reasons.
Why did I leave in the first place? And where did I ever go?
The girl across from me slants her body and the night light makes the curves of her chest shimmer.
Her dark eyes look up and meet mine and she smiles, and I smile back.