He'd spent years furnishing a special room in his memory palace, one specifically reserved for his hopes and dreams. It was filled with light and laughter, his wife and daughter smiling back at him from the snapshots that covered every inch of the wall.
It took just a few ill-advised words to destroy it all, scraps and shards lying scattered on the floor.
So he spent his days staring at the bottom of his glass, trying to work out the reason why he always ended up destroying everything he touched.
Until someone decided to stop him from destroying himself too.
It took him a whole decade before entering that room again, dust and cobwebs covering everything in there. He was just starting to consider the idea of refurnishing it when three gunshots shattered the last glimpse of hope he was holding onto.
Now he stared at the ceiling in the dark, his heart feeling utterly empty once again. He'd always known he was in too deep, and he'd lost everything for good this time.
'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all, that's what people told him.
Well, it was nothing but a lie.