Here I am, 20 years of age
Still unable to enjoy a beer in a public place
Yet I sit in my best friend's apartment on a Friday night
The glow of the city life shining on me through the singular window
And in my quietness I hear the banter of people likely having lived longer than I
Drunkly sauntering in the cold
And I think I should be envious of their openness
Of their still fully sound youth
But then I realize that my preference to simply observe from afar
Is not of my own fault
But of the people and substances who took my youth away
And it died far too young.