So Many Questions (draft)

Gravity driven cracks of despair
Map the years of his face
And give character
Where otherwise none exists.

Reading him offers more questions than answers—
Like why has he so little to say
Verbal or otherwise?

If time has been kind to him
It would be subjectively debated.
Perhaps he was not meant to live this long—
Or he could be far younger than imaginable.

He seems so alone. Why is he alone? Is he really
Alone— was there ever someone in his life
That smoothed out the cracks
That ask so many questions.