he can hear the music

he was completely alone and nobody could change that because he wanted things that way, wanted his footsteps to echo in empty hallways so that he could listen to the music that they made, the music that nobody ever seemed to stop for a moment to hear. his life was a whispering wind in the leaves of the tree of life and he loved to hear the music around him, loved the sounds of the excited chatter of the girls that made him think of a chorus of chipmunks skittering through tall grass that swayed in the wind with a small huff of air, blown from the lips of a small boy reading a book with his body sprawled out in the grass, oblivious to the green stains of the grass on his knees. winter was the time that he could hear the music the most because the snow fell so softly and it was that silence that made his heart swell with an emotion close to love, but not quite, it was more of a happiness and a fondness that he refused to show the world because he had a bad boy image to keep up with his ripped black jeans and chains and earrings and darkened eyes and cigarettes held between two fingers as he exhales the smoke in grey clouds that make him think of rainy days when the pitter patter of the rain drops lull him to sleep on textbooks that he wasn't reading anyway.