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He moves with purpose, with determination. Every step is planned. Every movement is deliberate. Each breath is spent carefully. His gait is timed so predictably that he could close his eyes and know his footfalls. He walks with a sense of importance. His urgency is apparent in the rigidity of his body, but he is still at ease. He masks himself in an elaborate display for the benefit of those around him, his eyes obscured by the reflective protection of his new sunglasses. The windows to his soul are closed, boarded up in darkness that cannot be penetrated by a mere glance.

He feels everything. There is no emotion that is unknown to him. Still, he betrays nothing to the outside world that he does not himself control. To those around him, he is the same as he has always been, a cheerful young man whose compassionate spirit and magnetic personality have brought him many friends. They do not see the hurt written in the lines on his face, the stories of pain told in the dark circles around his eyes. They do not see these things because he does not let them see.

He turns on his music and loses himself in the verses, the only place where he can open up his heart and pour out all the despair, the madness and the insanity that has accumulated over the course of the day. Whether it be walking around or moving in a vehicle, the quiet moments he affords himself are the moments he takes to ponder. He glances at his watch in a timely fashion, wondering when the day will end and the night will bring sleep. But his sleep is no more restful than his waking dreams, and he dreads the blanket of unconsciousness even more than the real world. In the real world, he can escape under his own volition. In his dreams, he is powerless to move, powerless to protest what he sees. The depth of his fears robs his fantasies of their color; instead, he sees firsthand the desolation that a broken spirit brings.