I'm drunk, so here is all my stuff. I'm 19, non-native English speaker, started writing a few months ago.

don't mind being alone now and then, but the loneliness I'm feeling is killing me. I'm a human and require warmth for a healthy existence. Without it we are lost, huh? Others would call it hyperboling, but you know, feelings are unique, pain is relative. We can't tell each other what to do or what to think, and the same goes for feelings. I feel lost. I feel alone. I feel, perhaps too much.
The twilight was already setting when I woke up. The room was chilly, but I was warm. The twilight created a dark blue sky, nicely complemented by the christmas lights in the city. I was living downtown in my sister's apartment, so my view consisted of lots of building, shops and a church. The mirrors on each side of the window reflected the lights and the twilight, creating a hexagon of light. I layed there for a minute, just looking and after a while, taking a picture. Then I grabbed my clothes, laying in a pile on the floor after the drunken night before. It took a few hours before I managed to get breakfast. I was tired, I could feel my eyes burning. I always got this sad look when I was tired, like I didn't want to keep them open in fear of what I would see. I listened to my old music, iTunes conveniently creating a top 25 list for me. What a great list though, walked around in my boxers, singing along, I started packing while the symphony of my top 25 provided background music. A message from Sigve popped in. I hadden't gotten a message from him since the 10th of July this summer. That day gives me nightmares. The message asked if he could come visit. I sighed, wrote back that I was leaving for the airport in a couple of hours. He replied that we would meet when I got back then. I wrote “sounds good”, and kept packing. 
Split, Croatia
10th of July, 2014 It started with alcohol, like it often does.

Come as you are. It was raining outside. I woke up with a hangover. The church looked particaluralily sad on this gray day, as I looked out over the city from my apartment. Melancholy is killing me, slowly. Too slow.

“Trust me, there's nothing romantic about sorrow. I once knew a man who lost too much, and got swallowed whole. This is the story of Albert Rolaine.
Albert was a fragile man. He grew up as a fragile boy. His weirdness turned into weakness for others to exploit. When he found out he wouldn't bow to supressing forces, it got worse. Once everything he loved, thought, and meant had been picked apart, lauged at and critizized, he didn't have much left. That's why I still think meeting Helena saved his life. I don't think he would have made it long if they hadn't randomly bumped into each other. Maybe randomness is less present than we think... Anyway, Helena was equally strange. She was also plagued by nervousness, low self-esteem, and what the general population labels as general strangeness. They bumped into each other in a book store. Of course Helena managed to break her ankle. Albert, ripped apart by guilt and embarassment, offered to do anything to make it right. Helena, in general a bit braver than Albert, took a chance and asked for him to swing by her place once a week to help her do things her broken ankle wouldn't allow her to do. She didn't have many close friends, and her family lived in France where she was originally from. So Albert start visiting her, and awkwardly performs the tasks he is given. While he stumbled around her apartment, she used to sit in her kitchen, watching quietly and drinking tea, offering guidance once every now and then. Albert liked having someone to visit, even though they didn't talk much. One time he was a in a family dinner. It was a large family, with not a lot of income. Being so many, they tended to forget about the silent and uninteresting ones, like Albert. After a lot of eating, talking, and arguing, Albert's father noticed his son sitting quietly at the corner of the table, at a stool since they didn't have enough chairs. “Now Albert, have you got a woman yet?”
Albert looked at his father, afraid of the ridicule to follow.
“And how's work? You still making minimum wage trying to become a writer?”
“I'm trying, I really am,” Albert answered.
“You're not trying hard enough. I'm just... sad. My son is a nobody. I probably won't get a grandson either. That's prabably for the bether anyway, he would probably grow up all weird like you.”
Albert stared down on his shoes. His hands we're shaking. His throat tightened, and he could feel chills of sadness flow down his back.
“Just leave me alone... Please,” Albert asked with a weak voice. 
“I don't know what we did wrong with you. Now you're making your mother cry aswell. Just...”
“I'm leaving,” Albert interrupted. He stood up, grabbed his coat, and left his family, never to look back. And his family didn't stop him, nor tried to contact him again. 
Anyway, as weeks went by helping Helena, her ankled started returning to normal. After visiting the doctor's office to remove the cast, she asked Albert if he would like some tea. He accepted the offer, and as they sat there quietly drinking their tea, the once every now and then looked up at the other one. They we're both feeling melancholic in a strange way. Like looking at a potential partner, filled them with warmth, but in a strange way, like they felt sorry for the other, like they just wanted to hug them, and feel their warmth and their soft skin and their hair lying against their cheek. She asked how he was doing. In a rare moment of honesty caused by the past weeks' loneliness, he told her about his family. She looked at him, and started crying. She couldn't talk, just look him in the eyes and cry, feeling overwhelmed by infinite sadness. Albert sat there confused, and in a moment's guidelessness he scooped over and hugged her. As they held each other, the feeling of sadness and warmth grew stronger. Albert started to cry aswell. Helena told him that her family had done something similar. She had also been too lonely to live a good life. They had both been naked humans, requiring warmth and company for a healthy existence. They just sat there, crying and holding each other. Their shoulders were wet from the tears. Then they kissed.

They married a year later. They belonged together. Both too wise to fall in short and explosive love or lust, they knew they we're meant to be, meant to be together till death did them apart. And so fate, if you believe in it, had decided that thought to come true. Helena died from cancer just half a year after being diagnosed. Albert refused to see what was happening, always speaking of hope and treatment as she was fading away. She knew what was happening, but played along to not break his heart, yet. So they snowy day she finally passed, he wasn't prepared. And so the story of Albert's demise begins... Albert had to deal with loss and sorrow like most people have to throughout their lives. But Albert being as weak as he was and so addicted to Helena, he completely broke. Some people who break, just stop functioning. If he had only been as lucky. It was like he was drowning while everyone around him seemed to breath completely fine. So he continued living, didn't lock himself up in their apartment, didn't stop going to work, because he had this idea that he had to stay strong. That he had to stay functioning, for her. But he was hurting so much the entire time, and to this day I have no idea what made him power through. She had died during christmas, so when that time of year started approaching again, he tried to make the best out of it. He celebrated alone, after not seeing much of his family. One day he got an idea. He would send 100$ bills to anyone who could make his day better. So he posted online on a forum, asking for heartwarming stories and happy endings, anything to cheer him up. So he did this again and again, all the way through christmas. After the holiday was over, he thought he would stop, but soon got addicted to it. His life was a total darkness, clouded and strangled by deep depression. The only glimpses of light he saw were the stories people told him. And he kept sending money, even though many insisted on doing it for free. He knew there was no light at the end of the tunnel, only these little glimpses in the middle. After spending all of the insurance money from Helena's death, he used his own savings, then his salary, then his food budget. Starving and hurting, he spent his last money on these stories. Then one day, he killed himself. And so goes the story of Albert, the man who drowned while everyone around him was breathing completely fine. He stared into the abyss, realized that he would eventually end up there, so when the moment came, he didn't blink.

/r/writing Thread