Your fat older cousin in his mediocre middle age

His brain pongs between his ecstasies and his fears and he aspires to relate to you in a witty exchange that he is quite proud of this or that little endeavor that never made his heart race. His fat neck and his glasses that he doesn't even notice anymore. His dark well kept beard. His pensive stare. His quiet life here on the property that can't be called small that is ending like a thing in space that extinguishes but whose death wont be noticed in our lifetime because, as he recounts every time he looks up at night, we can't know which stars have died because their light takes so long to get to us. His brain pongs between his ecstasies and his fears.