After All, He's Just a Man

His expression would change seam-fully and awkwardly. he was always forming what to say next. Listening just enough to follow. His expression would always be of surprise when he would realize what you had said. It took him a few beats to recover and transition to a more at ease, appropriate and more fitting expression. His interactions with friends were always overly comfortable. Impenetrable. If you weren't in the circle when it began, good luck getting in. When he was happy, he was giddy. When he was sad, he was desperately so. Content was a rare pony for him ever to mount. It wasn't comfortable when he did. Always waiting for one extreme or the other to come back. His ego was profound but also was his interest and wonder about things that he felt edified his character. Everything else fell into his pit of disdain He would commonly write off and tear apart limb for limb things or ideas that he had absolutely no interaction with. There was no convincing him either. Ever. He would employ every one of his devices. Vocabulary, down tone, complete confidence in his decision, or his misconception. His fingers seemed to never touch each other. Constantly open palmed and slightly fanned. He used his hands to punctuate almost every sentence that passed through his mouth. Commas, semi-colons, periods-- the lot. All were formed into some sort of point or swooping gesture. Everything about him was exaggerated, and his hands were no exception. His walk was never hurried. He sauntered. He rode his heels hard. Always leaning far back. It seemed like it would be difficult to manage but the fact remained that he did not do anything that was difficult. When he stood he was precariously involved in a sway. He would catch himself just short of the point where you were sure he would fall. He was constantly in thought. His eyes showed it with their frequent flicker and severe depth. One obvious problem was that he didn't always think through, but he was always thinking.