He was just jaded, every time he was idle his wit would start reasoning on something. No matter how much he tried to avoid it, it would happen each and every single time. Each time the intensity of it increased many folds to the last one. Almost at times he was lost, just walking about his own contemplation. He couldn't do anything but listen to that inner voice of him when it sounded. It almost was a call unlike any other he had ever answered. But, it were his questions that were left unanswered, just hanging there as if someone had chocked the very source of them......
Sitting there in the corner, jumbled up into a ball like figure, his knees to his chest and head bent down resting on them. His soul was almost done for, almost eaten up when that voice raised itself again, "Real men don't cry, or do they?". "Left it hanging there again , huh?" he answered that conscience........
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