good-looking – these are all the words you wouldn’t use to describe him. The beauty of his appearance was of a different kind – the striking one. There was something unusual about him, something about how he was carrying himself, how his curly bleach-white hair was framing his face, how melancholic his eyes were looking at world around him. Everything in him was somehow sharp: his cheekbones, his elbows, his knees, and especially those eyes – crystal clear, desaturated - almost colorless. Those eyes seemed to know everything about you, your every thought. He looked extremely pale, almost white, in his crown-black coat, scarf, trousers and oxford shoes, with pointed (s h a r p) toes.
Those blackness and sharpness and paleness combined together, made his tall skinny figure really bony, almost skeleton-like, as if he wasn’t really a human being. And this question (Is he or isn’t?) would appear in your head more and more, as Samhain or Halloween, if you wish, was coming closer and closer with every night. But still, this slightly frightening, mysterious young man wasn’t repulsive at all. He was just different, yet in quite an alluring way.
If only not his facial expression. Always emotionless, cold, just as a face mask, usually worn in the theaters. You wouldn’t see any interest or involvement in his eyes, no sign of attention, no matter what you would tell him or how loud. It always seemed that the cigarette in his spider fingers and the gray smoke rising from it, were far more interesting for him, than any of your word. He didn’t talk much, even when was expected to, preferring to listen (hopefully, to listen) and view the nature or whatever was around.
Never showing his affection, never smiling or laughing, he was made of detachment, calmness and restraint.
But this restraint shouldn’t be perceived as arrogance, narcissism, rudeness or desire to be left alone. For he never really knew the other way of behavior. Always on his own since childhood, without caring family or friends, he only knew the company of books. And books never needed his words, with them all he had to do was to read and to think. There was no need in showing emotions or in expressing fillings. So he don’t really know how to do it properly. Learning takes time, and people sometimes are too impatient to wait, to self-centered to think of someone else’s fillings. They want everything to themselves now. So they just push, expecting attention and reaction, but they only get quietness, fear and confusion.
It’s always scary and hard to reveal your true emotions and feelings and thoughts, especially when you think no one really cares. You hide them deep in yourself, in order to protect, to feel safe, waiting for the day someone will ask you and will hear and will listen.
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