Them.

            "He's seeing my soul, my fears, my fragility, my inability to deal with a world which I pretend to master, but about which I know nothing."

He walks around, his head held somewhere way up high in a world that only makes sense to him. Squared shoulders, and he walks on it as if he owns the ground. His curious eyes, never off guard. You think you're scared of him. I think I'm scared of him, too. And that's all right. Now he has a hiding place; you and I gave him a hiding place. So he sits there. Alone. Insecure. Scared. Very scared.

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Shoulders just a little slump and horribly bony. Look at her face. I know I said something. So I cuss my inability to shutup when I should. I ask what's wrong. She blushes and turns away. "Fine, be like that." But I really should've just hugged her.

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I'm bored. I grab Eleven Minutes and read the first page for the third time. I love how it begins. Then I shut the book and slip it under the pillow because I have a sudden urge to listen to Jenny. Adam sings me this one. It's catchy so I sing along.

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Look at him. You can, I try not to. Tell him he needs a haircut. Long hair on him makes me wonder if he'll get bald real soon, like his father. I feel sorry for him; He's such a loner so he plays his music that nobody appreciates.