It flowed like a silent stream, creating a clear trail down to his chin. There was nothing triggering it, really; nothing came to his consciousness. But somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind, he knew. He was just tired.

Was it worth it? He asked himself everyday. Was all this struggle, all this verbal abuse worth it? He would give anything to change his decision back then. He shouldn't have chosen this path. Nothing was worth anything he was going through now.

Every day, thoughts of just quitting appeared in his mind. It took a great deal of effort not to give in, and a whole lot more to continue on. Even now, his mind was battling itself not to hurl his body into the thriving chaos of the rush hour traffic below the station. It would only be too easy, really. Just a little tilt forward and gravity would do the rest. Nobody was paying enough attention to stop it too.

Would anyone even care?