He goes around town whilst no one knows a thing of his past, his present, or his future, he is he.
His greatest secret is himself, he hids it from anyone and everyone.
He wakes in the morning late for life, anticipatating the end of the day for when is is most blithe.
His closest frien whom he shares life with is hundreds of miles away, only gathering twice a year.
He collects remarks and rebuttles in a small bottle until they erupt.
He fears the day he looses everything and nothing at the same time.
His first thought every single day is if it all is really worth it.
He gets ashamed when people ask him why he always wears long sleves, even in the blazing heat of the summer.
He celebrates everything alone, never a hint of another soul.
He surrounds himself in books, reading them in his own little world of fantasy.
He gazes outside on dark gloomy days, waiting for it to get cold.
He draws out of pure imagination and fear.
He paints on one canvas only, covering each painting with another one, still seeing the old painting through.
He only remembers the feeling inside, he is unable to remeber anything before.
He fears the day he shows his true self for everyone to see.