The writer's past

--V--

Daylight crept in the next morning and filled his room with a pinkish orange colour. He squinted at the sun and stretched. It looked like a very promising day. Since the time he had left civilization he had barely felt his previous addictive tendencies. He did not need to smoke or check his correspondence obsessively. Yet he could choose to do these and feel no obligation to continue doing this as a necessary activity. The joys of reflecting on past failures, of looking at the long and tedious journey to reach this point.