In a coastal town in southern Scandinavia, Daniel roamed its streets as he had gotten into the habit of doing when he could not sleep. The sky above had kept its promise of rain, like it so often did. Daniel braved a faint smile, it was that promise that had brought him there. For as long as he could remember, the feeling of raindrops on his face and the muted roar that accompanied it had been his only solace.
Between concrete buildings, cobbled sidewalks, and the steady crashing of the sea against the pier down at the harbour, his nocturnal promenade did not exactly heal the ache that kept him awake. Rather, it lulled him into the pensive melancholy he’d come to accept as his new normal.
Daniel was by no means sad, nor did he consider himself depressed. What his psychiatrist had to say on the matter was of no consequence. During his promenades he had found a way to cope, he had made peace with his afflictions. In acceptance, he had found sanctuary.
Besides, what else was a man to do when the sky always reflected his soul?