The sick "5 to 9"

He laughs.

Never too loud to be noticed or ever too slight to be mysterious. It’s like his expressions have limitations. Like, the smile cannot broaden any more after certain limit. Or like, the laughter just won’t prolong after a restricted time. Rejoicing something merely out of his memories is simply out of question. Nostalgia means nothing. He has no interest in photography or lookbacks or timelines. He never takes out time to watch old photographs. He is a strong believer of living in the moment. He never bothers about future or ever worries about something that happened in the past. He doesn't have any friends. His criticism has an extent a little more than his power to appreciate anything. He is never curious about anything.

Yes, he cares, he’s human so why not? And yet he never ever expresses his feelings. He never gave room to madness or craziness or fun so he seeks logic in everything. He is strict in his beliefs. Rationality is holiness. For anyone who breaks the rules is unforgiven, for eternity.   

Maybe it’s his insecurities that are slowly biting him from the inside, little by little eating up his vigor, his anxiety, his enthusiasm, and perhaps he himself.

The truth is, you were beautiful too. You were unique and smart and special.

'Were' yes.

It's no one's fault but yours. You did it to yourself. You hid your soul that was supposed to be limber and free and laughing. But you strung yourself... 

                                               
I pity your very soul that dies of boredom everyday of your tedious life. The shadow of your insecurities is making your soul suffer. Suffer, miserably.