He wore nothing other than black even in the summer, his crystal blue eyes reflected ocean-hues and had jet black ink that could slightly be seen under the sleeve of his tattered and torn Rolling Stones tee. That boy, he was quite a mystery, had the body language of a jigsaw puzzle not wanting to be mended, although it was all opaque to me, others saw him impenetrable, however, I read him like my favorite book. This boy is exactly like me intelligent yet covert, impassive and esoteric yet a universe full of secrets and unspoken thoughts. It seemed as if his soul was somber and consumed nothing but vacuity. But I saw a masterpiece, a messily painted work of art, and that was the beauty of it. Others saw chaos on a canvas while I saw every watercolored hue that completed the exotic illustration that was, Luke.