There once was a boy, who did not as he was told, but as he felt. He did things on impulse. To this day he still remains one of the most self-less people that I've ever had the pleasure of meeting. He was full of laughter, but often told anecdotes that pulled on the heartstrings and made those near teary-eyed. It was a struggle to watch him hurt, although that rarely happened, he kept his head high and was a superman of his own. The hardest thing for him perhaps, was that quite possibly he trusted very easily, and failed to receive this from others. He sought out in hopes of learning someone. Not just to learn about them, but learn who they were. Their inner demons, their desires and hopes, often with words of comfort for those who hurt themselves to relieve the numbness. I believe he had great compassion and insight into the human condition. Although his morale was often questioned, as were his ethnics, he was quite capable. Capable of thought, literature, argument and action. Hemingway once wrote "never confuse movement with action." words that this boy seemed to follow. Although he enjoyed movement and the capability to use his own two feet and walk. He wasn't lazy at all, just perhaps a bit too energetic. He was a person of action, who followed through on his word, and very often did as he pleased, at no harm of anyone else. All of this is base on observations and guessing. Although my guesses are often right, they can be mistaken. But fact is fact. The boy that I write of, was one who was strong, quite kind. He enjoyed walking, and moving about, he particularly indulged in his food. He was compassionate and shared in others pains. He was quite literally, what seemed, to be the last nice guy left.

Signed, the girl of movement.

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