Oh, he is deep.

I said, ‘hey you, this is me. The idealist inside that holds your hope on a string, wound and tied like kites to all of your dreams and regrets. What a tangled mess that they’ve turned out to be. Take a breath, and ask yourself what matters.’

Days like masquerades, silent, hiding in the shadows,
stripped of their disguise leave you haunted as you scatter.

But you’re always on my mind.

-William Beckett

He is deeper than the dead sea.