Desert of empty illusions

He's lost amongst the deserts of his passion. Unlimited miles to cross, but so eager to pursue. He goes about his day with that inspiring drive that others congratulate, but never actually get off their asses to copy.
He carries out random acts of kindness with such a forceful familiarity that it humbles others. He doesn't do it for the college apps or for society to know he's a "gentle soul", he does it, simply because he does.
He loves with an undying fervour. He loves, yet can't define it. "Love", he say, "is love. You either feel it, or you're the Devil. You pick."
He forever has this look of being rushed plastered on his face. If you ask why, he'll hastily respond with, "I'm running out of time. I can't waste but a minute, for that minute isn't guaranteed."

He laughs in scorn at whether one should live in the past, present, or future. "None", he'll reply, "Just live."

He doesn't believe in the alleged fact of separate entities. In his eyes, one thing will always be connected to another. Like how the trees are to the ground, like how the sky is to the moon, like how the soul is to the body. Everything is a part of everything.

He carries his heart on his sleeve. He doesn't consider that to be a weakness or willing submission, he considers it to be genuineness. Why lie? He's a firm believer in stark honesty. He reckons the world doesn't get enough of it to pass it around.
With the sand swirling in billows around his feet, he crosses the distance, silently contemplating the rapidly unfolding beauty. Beauty. He believes beauty is everywhere. That one cannot create standards without first breaking down the fact that we were all created, and all creations are beautiful.
"Like the sun," he thinks, as he watches in satisfaction the raging fires as they dip behind the unknown and emerges as nothing but black. "Like Us. One day we will pass, the only difference is that the fire within us will live."
With a slight smile upon his perfect face, he continues to cross the vast desert.