The Writing

A boy, a man sixteen years of age and wandering the abyss of life. Intrigued by his own shadow, his own thoughts, his own achievements. Yet he sees no others and it is his demise. He knows no one else and it is to no surprise that he knows little of anyone other than himself. And even then, he cannot reach into the depths of his being. To answer the questions he asks himself.
Simplicity is fragile and in moments he can unlock their complications. It is the virtue he has, the vice he carries. It seems too much, but not enough. He seeks none other than the missing piece in his heart. A piece he long sought for in friends, family, in himself. And to no success. It eludes him.
A girl, a beautiful woman. He likes her. Her eyes scan the room but never lock on any one pair. And he yearns for that brief moment. He sees her, but does she see him? Empty gazes. They mean nothing and he is left to search the room himself.
Questions arise. never quelled, but always arising.
a hall. a locker. and he stands near her but never said hi. and she never saw him in the right light. she never took him as he took himself. she saw him how others perceived him. and he questioned that. but questions never seemed to do him right.
Persistence never paid off.
The man walks away lost and confused. The boy stays and ponders. and to the boy, the girl said. hi.
and the boy looked down at his toes.
a gaze upward again and she is gone.

questions never seemed to do him right. never quelled his thirst