Old Melodrama

I remember the exact moment I lost all interest in life. Film 301. November, 1989. Theresa was late for class. When she arrived I smiled and waved her to a seat next to myself. She frowned and sat elsewhere. The light drained from my system like air leaking from a punctured tire. Quickly and soundlessly. Metaphoric death. I felt it. I feel it still. I knew right then and there that my brief flirtation with happiness was over and probably wouldn't be making a return appearance. Why I decided to sojourn on, I have no idea. We sustain ourselves on the memory of sunlight, I guess. Or maybe I just have optimistic genes. . .