He tasted the word, rolling it on his tongue.
Shy.
Shy.
He tried to understand it, to capture the essence of it. Was he shy?
Shy.
The flavor was mellow, hinting at something more yet continuing lackluster. It felt almost stale, but not quite.
The flavor was mellow, hinting at something more yet continuing lackluster. It felt almost stale, but not quite.
Shy.
He thought of the times he could have, should have, done the right thing, but didn't, inhibited by societal norms and his own fears.
Shy.
He spat it out.
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