He was fully alive, yet too broken to feel this life. He was on fire, yet too scared to let his dreams be. He was so ambitious, yet too doubtful to believe.
That’s the first thing I saw in him: The paradox. He had the burning urge to create; the restless thought of making a change; and the endless dream of innovation. But I also observed his doubt. He would feel too scared to dream, sometimes, thinking of how hard it would be to follow the plan to that dream. He would be horrified to even speak his mind, or turn his thoughts in to words.
He was too doubtful. Too petrified. Too questioning. He was scarred.
I asked him once about those scars. He didn’t answer me, but I saw it in his eyes: As funny as it may sound, he was scarred by his own thoughts. The echo of his own thinking had become too poisonous for him, but he never wanted to admit it. Not to me. Certainly, not to himself. But I was able to see it. Me. The outsider. The observer.
His soul was somehow “infused with the notion that [he was] being groomed to reform the world,” but as time passed by, his mind was dreading the idea of hard work that came with the aimed glory. His mind was questioning his skills. His potential. His values. His strength. So he wanted to give up.
He was struggling. I would see him hiding between the thin layers of sarcasm that he covered himself with. Or I would see him trying to escape the “tense” moments of every single “serious” talk. I would see him trying to walk away. Turn back. Escape. Ignore. And even hide.
I saw it all, but I knew he was looking for answers. He was diving in the journey of self-discovery. It was him.
I saw it in him. I promised to help. He flourished. I smiled. He promised. I fell. He vanished. I waited…