Did it really matter which path he chose when he was destined to end up standing before the same fractured parts of himself over and over again?

Did it really matter how hard he tried, when in the end none of it really mattered?

As his hands clawed into the basin of the sink, the only thing keeping his pathetic ass standing, his eyes ping-ponged between the bottle of Courvoisier that sat on the edge and his reflection.

He had come so far, he had taken so many steps towards the bright light of his own potential, but as his left hand lifted, closing around the neck of the bottle,...