His face is narrow, cheekbones raised up high. His skin is pale, almost transparent. Yet smooth and glowing at the same time. The sun shines in through the window, his body absorbing the light. He had sharp features like i had never seen before. His jaw is chiseled like a statue deep in thought accenting his pointed nose. His eyes are pale like those of the ocean showing thoughts swimming in his mind. A smile spread across his face, showing the fine lines around his mouth when he smiles even the slightest smile. His thin smooth lips are left half open showing off his teeth. White. Almost fluoresent. His eyebrows wrinkle at the top just like a paper bag, light brown almost blond with a subtle arch covered by his shaggy golden hair that brushes across his forehead. He whips his head back to throw his hair out of his eyes. His lips go with the swift movement of the pencil and nose flares at every punctuation. He tilts his head to the side as he reads and re-reads his work. Erasing and rewriting. Showing patience, keeping his expression the same. Looking up not often but every now and then. His sculpted chin rested in his palm, fingers tapping against his lips, showing interest in his work. His eyes turn away to look up. You can see the relaxed image inside him. But when he looks down his eyes return to their narrow state. Instantly intensifying. When his mouth moves his whole face goes into expression. each word he mouths causes one eyebrow to raise, one dimple to show, or one flare of the nostril. He is like a statue. He never has to say anything and yet I feel like I can understand him. He looks as though he has a lot on his mind. Like he has a lot to say. But he doesn't know how to write it down on paper. He looks like he has a confusion of words in his mind and is having a difficult time sorting them out. He has a look that can be mistaken for anger for it is being taken to seriously. I see it as a look of intensity. A challenge to get everything written down. Like a personal race against time. This look tells me he is determined. Like nothing is going to stop him from writing. Or maybe he is writing subconsciously. A blank thought? Thats what I will call it. A blank thought. Yes! That sounds right. I look at his face. To others that just glance he shows no expression, but to me he shows thought. And not just any thought. The ultimate thought. The power to imagine. I watch his imagination flow from his mind, to his finger tips, and then onto the paper. I can see it in his eyes. The feeling of accomplishment. It is one thing to be able to think, but another to be able to imagine. As he was finishing his last sentence the thoughts i saw swimming in his mind disappeared as he folded up his notebook and put his pencil in his lap. He joins a conversation laughing. He has had many emotions expressed since the beginning of this essay but that is a whole composition



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