Imagine a man who has everything. He finds who he's looking for, and has this person for a while. They have everything, together. It's happiness in its purest form, and perhaps it will last forever.
But nothing does, and everything fades and decays, and the man loses this person, whether it be to time or death or a mixture of both. The two intertwine and he loses all control, and the whole idea of loving and losing suddenly becomes apparent to him.
Tumbling down, he suddenly realises that life isn't fair. Not in the way that some people get good things and others just get bad, but because everyone doesn't just get happiness. He believes there is no heaven, therefore there is no hell, so why should his eighty years of consciousness be complete shit?
The years pass down the bottom of a glass and he starts to wonder, were we meant to end like this? The human race degenerating through the lack of love, or the sheer amount of it. Most things artificially created in this world were influenced by love of some kind, and this applies to the bad as well.
He drinks and he drinks and perhaps the world will feel better when he's a little less conscious of it, even when the hangovers are so very bad and he feels like some mornings are his ends. Nothing feels like beginnings any more.
So he drinks and ages and hopes that this is his course. Even if it isn't a good one. He's not looking for an amazing life, and perhaps the most complicated one would be the most devastating. But he can deal with it and he does.
Imagine a man who has everything. He didn't.