He is like an ocean.
In looks and in manner he resembles an intoxicating maverick.
He is built strong, his body just strong enough to contain his thoughts.
He is tall, and he uses it to his advantage.
His dark hair matches the suits he wears and the storms out at sea.
His eyes would have been his most intoxicating quality if not for his mouth.
There was nothing extraordinary about his slightly curved lips, or his voice that left a bitter-sweet taste in his mouth every time he spoke, but it was what he said.
He spoke the same way he moved: precise, powerful.
Every word, every syllable, every turn of the head and bat of the eye, every beat of his heart met its mark.
Like waves slowly eroding the rocks that were unfortunate enough to have met the ocean, was his existence.
He was all of this, and he seemed not to know.
I do not think he knew how entirely alone he was, so cut off from human kind and all its marvelous joys and sorrows.
I doubt he thought he was average, but I do not think he knew his influence on others.
He did not know that he could drown people so easily.
I never did like the ocean.
