There was wildness in him that he did not know how to acknowledge or to make peace with, wildness like the heavy tense snorting breath of a cornered horse. Every moment he felt a catching and holding of this breath, fearful of how the wildness would come out if he exhaled. Things others called expected and normal felt contrived, controlling and restrictive to him, like a rider with heavy hands. He always felt like bolting from beneath these expectations. Yet, in the end he always held himself on the edge of flight trying to figure out how to love himself and to be loved, to be respected for who he was, fearful that if he didn’t behave what little love there was would be withheld. He was never far from the young boy in him who felt he was not good enough, the boy with the smile that faded year by year, watching through intelligent eyes that saw too much, windows to a heart that felt too much and a body that wanted too much. He felt a need to belong, a need to be loved. And, as she had reminded him before he left that morning, he was a man of principle, a man with rules that were important. He tried to hold to these rules that kept him and others safe from the wildness in him that he feared as much as he loved, so in the end he was his own prisoner.