plays with his hair a little.
A language in which no one speaks, yet all is understood, the bond only that of family shares without attachment of matching blood. Tainted fingertips line the greased threads of coal that sprout from flesh’s roots & he makes no movement, no motion to explain what or how he feels in current moment-- an apathy taken to one who WEAKENS him when all he desires is the strength in which she does so possess. Perhaps he once was JEALOUS, yet now he acknowledges their difference. An acceptance of one’s qualities, or rather, an acceptance of own flaws. Deep care is held so closely within chest’s cavities for the one who motions within his hair astray, for another who sits idly upon wagon opposite of them, yet still he does not speak. He speaks not of his care, nor his family, nor love, for in a world which may tear him apart, and proves to do so each & every day, he cannot reveal the weaknesses as such. The tips that graze unkempt stands prove only their care for him, just as they always have; a devotion of emotion, often displayed in ways more physical than not, yet never are they reciprocated as he must maintain the strength of protecting those in whom he cannot.
( Useless boy who cannot do anything, how are you, so emotional, weak, fragile to world’s order, to repay those who protect your reckless being all the long ? )
An upward glance, he does not bother, eye-contacts efforts remain in closed cases as it deems unnecessary to the eye, grey of burnt ash, ( no longer the fire it once held captive ) which grants it so. A parting of swollen lips, nothing slips but the stone question of ignorant understanding-- a mere gesture of honesty, he sounds it not as anticipated. However BRUTAL in his approach he does not do well to realize.
A display of that which bears no purpose, he helps not but to be blinded by own curiosity.