Most people think that he’s fine by the way he walked and talked and smiled with me. But on the inside, there was he couldn’t breath, he was sore and tired of treading deep waters. Sometimes he felt the urge to take an ax and thrust it into the wooden walls of strength he’d built up so that everyone could feel his insides, so that he they could take a minuscule slice of his burden. So that people could feel the threads of feeling that would ooze out of his body and onto his arms because of the ax he would use as his outlet. His heart was pounding, his hands were shaking and the oceans in his eyes were drowning him, only nobody had noticed it.