The window is barely open.

But from this tiny slit into the night outside this dingy apartment, I can hear the rain still washing away the filth of today. Glass smashes somewhere in the alley out back, and brakes squeal in the distance. I draw my gaze away from the window, towards the stained and vandalized coffee table in front of me. I flick my cigarette lazily over top of the ash tray, and my attention is held briefly by the sloppy carvings in the table. Just like the ones youd see on a high school desk, only perhaps with a little more meaning, it reads M + A 1994. The rest of the table is littered with lighters, half-finished beer bottles, and multicoloured pot bags. This place really is a shithole. I cant even think properly in this gloom, or with Nirvana playing as background noise. I stand up, a little too quickly, and turn off the hit radio station coming out of the ghetto blaster. I stand here, cigarette in hand, alone in this oh-so-lovable apartment, with its impressive peeling wallpaper and coffee stained carpet. I turn my attention away from my surroundings, and draw myself inward. My head is an auction house, with all of my worries and problems trying to outbid each other for precedence at the forefront of my misery. I focus intently on the swirls of cancer drifting casually away from my smoke. I wish I could vanish in a similar fashion; I joke to myself, drift off in a direction and simply disperse into nothing. The snow shifts on the side of the mountain, and I feel an avalanche stirring in my mind. One of these days shes just not going to come back. One of these days you are just going to be alone with the peeling wallpaper, I tell myself. All the cocaine

in the world couldnt make these walls more interesting, or make this apartment less lonely. Theres nothing worse than having only a substance as company. I hear a cat hiss outside the window. My mind wanders, and I begin to feel an overwhelming sense of self-pity, mixed in with regret and disgust. Ever since my old man died, I knew I had broken inside. But this overwhelming feeling I had, was it a realization? Had I stored away a secret hope deep inside that one day I could be whole again? This pain was sharp, like choking on shards of glass. I went for so long without caring if I lived or died. I filled my body with poisons, of every kind, and tried to dull the thunderstorm of my mind. But the storm did not die down; it accepted the drugs like fire accepts wood. Drugs are a slippery slope; they used to tell you in school. If that was the case, I had laced skates and raced to the bottom. Its ironic, because Id begun life as a nobody in the first place. When you feel like you have nothing to lose, misfortune doesnt come as a surprise. But when you push on anything hard enough its bound to break. I heard thunder crack outside, and pushed the window closed completely. Along this dark path I had carved, I lost something important along the way. You see, sanity is something you should hold onto dearly these days. Those without it often find themselves in bad situations. Id seen people entirely lose themselves to needles and straws and razors. I decided I couldnt lose myself. At this point in my life, I looked up and

the tiny speck of light above me, and began to climb the cold walls of the hole I had dug for myself. The change in my mind was easy, and swift, like turning on a light. But the transition for the body is a free-fall. But I dealt with my blurred life, and in time the picture came back into focus. But where does the true importance lie? At the end of the day when youre sitting all alone with nothing more than circling thoughts and a clouded heart, what keeps you going? Family is what truly pulled me out of the hole Id dug for myself. Just being able to speak to my mother in a voice I knew was my own, and not just with hollow sounding words spilling thoughtlessly was reward enough. Family will always be there, but it does not define you. I must carve my own path, and leave my mark upon the world. Otherwise when I fade, before the end, I will not grin with smug satisfaction at my followed path. A sense of completion, comparable to what ones father might look like after a hard days work. I need to leave this place knowing I mattered to someone, foolish as it is, people are all we have. I want to be more appreciative. But my life has always been a story of endurance, not of enjoyment. Why should I be granted the happy ending we all long for? My eyes follow the quickly fading trails left by the rain drops racing down the windowpane. I hear a key turn in the lock, and the most beautiful person I have ever met in my life steps wordlessly into the dimly lit apartment. I see her glance

around, sweeping her eyes quickly from the clothing covered floor to the tiny kitchen, as if shed expected the apartment to be clean upon her return. She throws her coat and bag haphazardly to the side and begins to cuss about the storm and the stress of her day. As she kicks off her muddy boots, I notice Im only watching her lips, and not actually hearing her words, and those endless eyes finally find mine. Her eyes are like a flare signal. I have been searching for help, groping pathetically in the dark all my life trying to cling onto something material, and here it is reflected in her eyes. Love is just a word, but the look she gives me is real. I put my arm around her, and watch the rain beat against the window.