He was a good man; or so he told himself.

He was more of a cipher, really. Defensive and insecure - addicted to bleach and voiding smells and revisions and frenzied, incessant effort towards perfection. Loving minutiae - in all its beauty. And occassional belligerence - clenching jaws to toothdust and clinging on to what feels normal by chewed-bleeding fingernails. Neuroses! But still, surprisingly, always thinking of stretch goals for life and other unattainables to, sadly, knowingly, keep his mind off crushing thoughts of meaning. Reading and doing and technicianing and not thinking, never thinking...

...but more filling his head with trickery as convincing thoughts of providing and protecting, a balanced life, fulfilling work, and other such delusions of norm. Ignoring - racing mind, natural introversion, and inclination to hibernate - to painfully and slowly smack lips through full sentences and paragraphs of speech.

So he told himself.