Dante didn't jump

Dante didn't jump.

Dante didn't jump because he was scared. He was afraid of that unknown darkness called death, the sleep from which no one ever returns to share their dreams.
Dante didn't jump because he clung to the vestiges of an all but dormant hope. A longing for human connection, for love.

It was this second reason which weighed upon Dante's mind as he walked away from the bridge and towards his house.
A house devoid of love, at least the kind for which he longed so desperately. Houses are just buildings, somewhere you eat and sleep. Conversely a home is not built by human hands, it has neither walls nor roof. Because a home needs only one component to exist, love. Earthly conditions have no bearing on a home, its walls are stronger than iron.

Rain beat down in a slow, steady fashion, keeping time with Dante's heart, both, cold and relentless.

Reaching the front door of his small suburban house, Dante shook the water from his curly black hair and slipped the backpack off of his sore shoulders.
With a reserved sigh, he pushed open the front door....