Portrait

He stands there, naked. Raw emotions racing behind his eyes. Anger. Fear. Relief. Sadness. Uncertainty. Rolling past again and again. Like the spinning wheel on the Price is Right, where it will finally land, nobody knows. This is not a game to him, though. You can tell by the tightness in his jaw, the slightly bent head, the hands that flex open and close.

Somehow he looks disheveled. Like he's been up all night without sleep, even though only a couple of hours have passed. His shirt is un-tucked, he's got stubble along his face, and his skin looks dull. He seems shorter than his usual six feet and as though he's lost weight. Is it the stoop of his shoulders that makes me think this?

He looks so alone. I want to be there for him. I hope he lets me into his abyss so that I can help him find his way out. He drops the papers in his lap and shakes his head. Mutters to himself. Picks up the papers and reads through them again. His past and his future are in his hands.