He never existed...

Nothing at all...

He just left and never came back. As if I meant nothing.

He looked at me with eyes full of undecipherable emotion. I thought I saw loneliness and loss. I thought I saw the deepest of regrets. I thought I saw more, but I didn't know what to make of it.

He's tall, with a comparably short body. He's muscular, but his skin is pale and sunken. His hair is bleached and stiff and wiry, with a sharp salt and pepper. He's got a short beard, and his eyes are bright with a manic intensity that's so hauntingly familiar. He has his sleeves rolled up, revealing a pair of arms as hard as strong stonework. His forearms are muscular and his hands are scarred, and his fingers are long and delicate.

A life of cruelty and torture. The most physically and emotionally damaged young man you could ever come across.

Although I never felt love more deeply, I was confused by his stare. I didn't understand his countenance, but I knew he was a man of profound misery. I sensed he had suffered greatly, and thought I could see a kind of animalistic aggression in his eyes. His mouth was a dark cavern.

I see in the shadows of his heart, the smoldering embers of pain and darkness. I see in the shadows of his soul, the ashes of desire.

One day, like a wiff of absidian and smoke he was gone. The subtle scent of him lingered, like a distant sun reflecting off the ocean.