The room was clean when he gathered his thoughts. In front of him lay a bookshelf with various types of things he’s read over the years. Some on self-help, some on business and others just for fantasy. He sat there discontent. Years of memories gathered around him as one’s room should. It had pictures of his loved ones and trophies of triumphant times long gone. There was a bottle of Don Julio with two shot glasses he had collected in his travels through Asia. He sat there alone with the night breeze his only companion. Through his mind he thought, “What was I supposed to do? It seems like a memory I should have remembered. I got to work, I aim to go to the gym and then I use whatever time I have left to figure that out. I want to do something but I don’t know what it is! It’s the imminent feeling you get when you’re so close to something but you miss the mark. Did I not say enough? Did I say too much? What was it….” He gets up. “Maybe it was to meet my soulmate…but that sounds too easy…” he muttered. “I can’t die without knowing…and I can’t bear living if that’s not where I’m going to…to find the answer I’ve been looking for.” He lays in bed to uncover the sheets and rest his head. The night has passed and the sandman has come. Slowly he reaches his hand out from under the blanket to reach for the ceiling. He grasps it firmly unveiling a tortured fist filled with a temperament of sorrow. Suddenly he relaxes his hand and collapses it next to him. “Maybe tomorrow I’ll know…” he whispers as his dream blanket his conscious.