Time

The seconds ticked by in long intervals. The space between the seconds seemed to last an eternity. Work was dragging by so long today. Fred looked at the clock again. Another second passed. It was a long time until closing. Some days Fred felt like he lived here at work. It had been so long since he took a day off. Seven days a week, non-stop. TICK.
Days and nights seem to have blurred together for Fred, he didn't even know what the date was. But this was the way he wanted it. Staying busy helped him forget. But it never really helped. He smoked pot regularly and in heavy quantities and he still couldn't forget. No matter hour hard he tried, Fred just couldn't forget.
TICK.
Another second passed. Every moment since she left had been like this, one eternity after another. Life had little meaning anymore.
They say that time heals all wounds. This was the wound time dugout. Fred could live forever and he would still be wounded. Love wasn't supposed to leave. Love wasn't supposed to fade.
TICK.
The hours at work were never enough, the hobbies at home even less so. He couldn't smoke enough, Fred was fairly sure there wasn't enough pot on the Earth to make him forget. And so he carried on, numbing himself, building his walls high, keeping everyone away. If no one came close, no one could ever hurt him again.
TICK.
Another second closer. At some point it would all end, of this Fred was sure. No one lived forever. Each passing second got him closer. Soon enough.
TICK.
Reality had warped for Fred. He daydreamed so much that telling reality from fantasy was no longer easy. Fred longed to get lost in a story, a connection with her. A way of being with her. Life wasn't real anymore, only the stories.
TICK.
another second closer.