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And though he seemed so carefree, we watched him evolve. Maybe it should not be called "evolution," per say. It was a growth in our perception of him. At first it was only what we chose to see. Gradually we saw him in his past. The deaths that molded him, the masochism. And finally, he just looked so tired.

Whispers twist and twirl through ears shaped awkwardly, though he's not sure to which he should give heed. They tempt him to reach within himself and pull out his heart. Only when it stops beating will he finally be safe. Some others try to seep through and drag him back to sanity, but they are drowned in the waters of doubt.

He decided to pretend he was the clown he so despised, at times. But deep concern shades his vision and the doors to the trenches of his soul are thrust open. Hazel orbs reveal what should be kept secret.

But those same eyes can dance! With good humor and a fondness for mirth and laughter he teases life, entices it to accept his challenge. And this life has not been kind to him. He just shrugs his sagging shoulders and walks away, the promise of the day lingering in the far-off mists.

Saving lives was more than a chore but less than a hobby for him. With a sardonic grin he enters with an immediate tactical advantage. Sighs, as he grasps for fragments of a solution to an impossible problem.

Through the conundrum-laced days, he sat in the sun, content to sleep quietly, and dream not at all. However the most confounding question is why, in five years, we did not realize until the end that he is the only one we truly cannot live without.

The days will seem far emptier now.