In search for the inner.

The hands move, around the singular point. Slowly, as if dragging the past along. Perhaps he did - on him a load so heavy. And as they move, the weight increases. And the wrench tightens. On the heart, on the mind, on the soul. A pain he can only appreciate in silence. Appreciate, yes. The hideout no longer one, filled with his fear in the heart. And he stands out in the cold, nowhere to hide away. What next. As the load grows heavier and the hands tick by, slowly. To let it all go and face it as it is? Or to cower away in fear, in search for yet another hideout. More to house then just the body. Along with it the pain, the anguish. It won't last - it just turns into regret one day. And regret, that one thing, will stay forever.

And ever.