Numb

There came a point where he realised that he had no more feelings to feel. A point where he could see things and actually have no opinion about it. No hurt. No guilt. No shame. No happiness. A big hole of emptiness. Just like the house he just bought.

He sits and sips his beer as he watches the street starting to stir. People take out their garbage. The neighbour walks his dog. Kitchens light up and you can see the women making coffee and lunch, and the families joining slowly. Some soft chatter for the house that slept like a baby the night before. Silence and passive aggressive pounding of mugs as a result of last night's fight in another. A cat goes through the trash. The perky neighbour finished her stretching and starts her jog and flashing him with a set of perfectly white teeth as she passed. The road cleaners come and he listens to their chitchat. More houses stir. People leave for work. Others start cleaning. Children go to catch the bus.

 And he sat there on the porch. Cigarette in one hand and beer in the other. He remembers dimly what it was like to be like them. To have a family, to have a purpose. To wake up with a plan. But the memories were cushioned by a cloak of numbness. It was like watching someone else's life.

And he wondered when it was that from a young man full of life he became a cynic old man too numb to feel sorry for himself.