Since when has he felt that paranoia crawled upon his delicate skin and since when it has become the time for him to share various thoughts and ponders which cross his gullible mind? He’s naive, in all sort of meaning to that word albeit inside his layers of ingenuousness he’s crude; there’s more than simple psychosis to him or apprehensivness -- there is something darker, bigger that cannot be defined even by the bestest of experts in the matters of sentiments a youngster senses. Even as all is fine, he is not (deep inside, of couse). He is a scardy-cat; anything of horror and he is gone with a blink of an eye so could it possibly be that he has read a bit too much of things that he should not have? “I’unno...” His whole life consists of a series of putrid dreams, some that have come true and until this very day he conceals these emotions with a smile, just like now as he reveals the coy of his silent titter -- immediately after, becomes sullen as per usual. His facade is normally nonchalant, anyway. He is not going to bring the atmosphere down because of his own perturbation -- even if he hadn’t been himself recently. It could be the duress, forbone, the forlorn that he feels for no apperent reason at all... no ration, just emotions -- and he hates it, he loathes it to his guts that there are times when he’s driven firstly by emotions before reason. He despises anything that has to do with feelings, to even begin with.
“Thank you. I’ll eat well.” Quick to change the topic, almost hurriedly -- at least he has a valid excuse of keeping inaudible and tranquil for he eats, right after the polite bow of his head and hands out of tradition. There is no use of digging out what’s he long-ago buried inside him.
