He. Him. Mine.

No, he was not like the rest.

In a world that was on fire,

he refused to burn.

When facing death itself,

he looked death in the face

and said FUCK YOU.

In the darkest hour of tragedy,

he stood tall

with honor

and resilience.

No, he was not like the rest.

Maybe it was the yellow

spark of lightening in his

deep brown eyes.

Or the look of determination

on his face when you would

tell him he couldn’t

do something.

No, he was not like the rest.

Falling down an eternal abyss filled with

agony and death

waiting at the bottom,

he fought with every single ounce

of will and might left in his body to

see the sun again.

And one day the sun will rise

and shine with him.

No, he was not like the rest.

You could speak over one

hundred languages,

meet one-hundred

people

and time travel one-hundred

years to the beginning of

time,

and you will never meet another

like him.