He had a pace that wasn't quite normal. He walked as if it was painful to walk. His head was always down as he hunched a lot. The hunchback of Kissimmee, Florida had a lot of emotional and mental weight piled against him. The ghosts of his past kept floating around him. While no one could see the ghosts, he could see them hovering above his head; pointing and laughing.
His history of pain is written all over his face. If you stare into his eyes, you could see right into his soul. He always acknowledges to everyone around him that there was no feeling or emotion left inside of him. But that was just a defense mechanism to salvage what little feeling or emotion he had left. In truth, he thinks of himself nothing more than damage goods – a broken misfit toy, discarded on a second-hand store shelf. People pass by him without any sense of care or empathy. While he isn't the newest or hottest trendy model, there was a certain charm he possesses, once you get to know him.
He occasionally smiled (but rarely meaningful). He often joked, as if there was a pulled string residing in his back. On the surface, the jokes were genuine. So was the laughter. But underneath the humor was depression, sadness, despair, defeat. Underneath all of that were joyless, nothingness, emptiness, hollowness, and darkness.
He tries to stay afloat. He tries to inspire. He tries to stay calm, and cool, and collect. He tries to care, care for the careful and the careless. He tries to please. He tries to impress. He tries to keep on keepin' on. He tries to love. He tries not to hate. He tries to be happy. He tries to not be sad all the time. He tries to manage. He tries to keep swimming, and keep movin' forward. He tries to clear his mind from any negative cloudiness and surround himself with positive pure imagination. He tries to attempt. He tries to try in tryin' times.
K.H.; July 11-12, 2018.