I once knew a boy who did not know how to love. He understood not the intricacies of intimacy or how to respond to others in love. The boy, very much loved by others as he perceived for he often felt the soft touch of a friend upon his shoulders when he was weak with a fever, and such comfort made him warm on the inside. But, he did not know how to touch others with such gentleness and care for he feared that such kindness was meaningless. At times his friends would call him and beseech him to venture out with them, but he never once called them for he did not know how to invite others to share in his special visiting places. He would rather go alone, although in those moments when he did say yes to endeavour with his friends, he felt love deep in his soul, for it was for fellowship that humanity was made. Nevertheless the boy knew not how to call for help. On occasions when he was asked about his day, the poor boy would dismiss the question in very brief words and then go away or he would quickly return the question. One thing that was surprising about the boy was that he loved to listen to the interesting thing about people’s lives but he himself did not know how to share about the sweet happy things which had occurred in his day. He kept it all bottled up in his boyish heart, only to be told by his pen to the paper or soon to be forgotten. He knew not how to love and with every fancy, with someone who has taken the height of his imagination, the land where he dwells the most, he soon despise them. Not in a bitterish way, but the kind where he thinks that it is useless to approach them because they must hate him or that their relation towards him will all be out of sympathy and pity. He hated such notions and for friendship to spring from such sentiment but he himself did not know how to maintain any loving activity for he fears that he would not know how to treat others correctly. So the boy naturally withdraws, wishing and willing to be left alone and at the same time hoping for some soul to desire to have him by their side. Such is the way of the boy that he truly is a friend of contradiction. He desires love but knows not how to show it. Something it seems holds him back and in speaking with him I fear that it is a dread of being vulnerable. There is a real pride about him but at the same time a deep humility. I felt it as I spoke to him. His soft eyes and springily smile were something of a welcoming feature but yet there was a mystery, a farness to his person. In truth, the boy admitted that he was a rubbish lover and knowing that he possessed much sunshine in his soul, he simply did not know how to make others see his light. Only his own soul have enjoyed such fellowship and others have felt its scattered rays. There is hope yet for the boy and one believes that in pursuing him and praying for him to be free from his penitentiary fetters, he shall be the best lover of us all.