barrier to block the biting autumn wind and spits of icy rain he continues reading:

As I write more of my feelings down, as I was instructed, I start to learn more about myself than I ever imagined possible.

Then skips to another page:

It’s funny how emotions have their own music, a rhyming pattern unique to each one. A flavour almost. Or maybe that’s just me.

His inner most thoughts seem to be contained here. All that remains of a former self. A shattered, fragmented record of a mind but still, somebody he at least partially knew.

Adjusting the fabric wrapped around his lower face, to hide as much as he can, he pulls his hood down tight