A Steady Situation, Part 8

Try tipping towards total serenity serenaded by billowing black clouds, baked inwards, instantiated endlessly egglike. The output of his brain was morose and untidy. He was a very successful weaver, but not one at ease. He surveyed his cramped and somewhat untidy living space. It was all just useless clutter, and he felt like a machine.

He had something to hold on to, though.

He had found for himself a modest friend group, and someone who was fast becoming his best friend. It felt good being practical, doing the awkward things like cooking and tidying. They would still say he was a good conversationalist though, and he was encouraged that they wanted to learn more about him.

It was something of an earnest thought, and he was driven to think more. Things had been difficult, but he was starting to make something of himself. There had been a way that his insecurities melted when he was in that space. He felt useful. He looked down at the scars on his chest. Maybe they would heal yet.