June 5, 2015.
Dear diary,
The boy, he's here when I arrive and here when I leave.
I'm still unsure of who he is and of what lies beneath that hood of his but I wait.
I spend most my time watching him write in his tattered book, held tight in his hands. Sometimes he draws, but mostly he writes.
I try not to stare but that's all I can do.
If only he'd show his face.
