He had lived his life, fully planned.
Every day, he knew where he wanted to go, as if his whole life could have been mapped out. He knew, what to do, how to do it – or otherwise, how to get it done. He was perfect, immaculate and a flawless gentleman. He was there for everybody, and that was the problem.
He didn’t know if they genuinely needed his help, or were merely taking advantage of him. And whenever they had had his help, they never said “Thanks” but said “Sorry” – as if he had been disturbed by them asking for his assistance, and that bothered him more than them asking his aid.
He thought he had friends everywhere; but everyone thought he was way out of their league; even for his friendship. People believed his shyness was actually an aversion to them. He was intelligent. Brilliant. Introverted. Intuitive. But very socially awkward.
He preferred solitude, but he was gifted with loneliness.
He had won many awards, but no hearts.
He realised he had many hands to shake, but no shoulder to cry upon.
In spite of having a map, he was lost.