Wasted

Aaarrrrggggghhhhh. Can't wait for Friday. Not that am doing something that's worth looking forward to on Friday (or the weekend). The week just didn't start right for me. I wish I can just stare off space and not think about anything...with a glazed look and a cigarette stub between my fingers, lying on the floor wishing I were dead.

But wait - that's not me.

Sometimes I think about it - what's it like to be in his shoes. Has it really been thirty wasted years?

I see him only at most twice or thrice a year. The longest times I have spent with him are during Christmas parties...where I see him dart in and out of his room, hardly nodding, hardly making eye contact with anyone...stopping once in a while to frighten the kids.

My cousin the druggie.

Perhaps he's tired of seeing everyone shake their heads in disappointment at the sight of him. Perhaps he had some hope left, but had given it up simply because he was not given the chance. And he turned to something he found more satisfying...fulfilling perhaps.

I wonder what happens next, now that he's been found.

His eyes terrify me. There's so much sadness in them, even beneath the glazed look.

I yearn to reach out to him, understand him.