First writing for fun

And so he walked out into the cold. It felt welcoming, as it embraced and enveloped all of his sense of feeling. He always liked the cold, as long as it was not extreme, he could easily endure it, in sort of the same way someone is able to eat extremely spicy foods. He needed to get away from the current world, and he found something he loved. He was alone with his thoughts, comfortable to his imagination without worry. He felt atop the highest mountain, he held the widest grin and a feeling of true happiness. It did not achieve anything, but he didn't care, for what did watching tv or normally talking or playing sports or hugging or listening to music or painting or writing or anything that didn't get you money matter? But this is actually different, in a profound way.
And so he loved it, so much freedom, and so much enjoyment, it was the greatest feeling he could have imagined. Everything else was dull, was work, was nothing but time slowly going by disconnected. Without this feeling he felt nothing was worth it. How did he ever go by before, he wondered. nothing, absolutely nothing could tear him apart from his nightly excursions beyond and above everything "real". To him everything else was what didn't matter, they were a means to sustaining this.
And so it was that everything else fell behind. It was neglected, done with just enough to get by and no conviction. His friends worried, but not enough to go after him, after all he was his own person right? They certainly didn't like the activity so both parties drifted away, slowly but definitively. His parents saw that he was still employed, not doing drugs nor being a danger to anyone. And his work was still on time, not the best, but he never excelled at it anyway.
Everything started to wash away, he was consumed with desire for more, but it would never happen. His love was hard to explain, and nobody understood it, still he was unfettered and he strived on. He realized later what he had given up for this fixation. Life experiences, friends, personal interaction, satisfaction in work(the thing he did well enough people payed him for it).
Later on, much later, years later, this man would go back, slowly, he would socialize, move up the corporate ladder, and talk to his parents every few days. He went on every day like a normal person, but in the back of his mind, there would be a stinging thought. This came up every night, as he started to lose consciousness. During the most solitary time of day the thought still crept up from behind into his mental foreground.
"I will never be able to proudly define myself by what I love the most in the world will never be able to live the anonymous dream the misfired interest...no matter how much effort is put towards it there is an impassable impossibility in making it my profession. the dream of making the thing you love most into a..." was cut short by sleep.