1. It’s like a riddle, you see.

It’s like a riddle, you see.

The way words never come out of his mouth but his heart is pinched and his mind is heavy with thoughts and dreams he doesn’t know when – if he even ever – he’ll be able to tell.

The way his senses are all stripped from him when he is alone and he thinks of funny stuffs to do like falling in love, growing old and sometimes, he even thinks of death (he also thinks it’s sometimes funny that it is not funny at all).

The way his hands reach out for nothing and his fingertips are all but dancing in winter air, his nose red with coldness and eyes blurry from all the fog and snow, blurring with hot tears.

The way his heart is always on his sleeve, always out there for wolves to feast on and it’s a riddle, really, how he hurts and hurts and writhes in pain and no one even notices but he keeps it that way; with his heart on his sleeve and his mind always with a dose of fantasy and things he think he’ll be able to have (but not really, not ever, actually).