He ate the sounds that escaped his mouth before they reached eager ears, his razor statements that cut through the tongue. Open-mouthed, he stood in awe of the havok in his mind because he never thought his thoughts through before spitting them (that was never his aim). And he was never very good at hitting a bull's eye because he always aimed a little lower so his expectations would be met. But when he spoke he spoke softly and took everything back, rewound time, ate his words, before anyone would notice. He was not one to cause damage. He was not the violent type.
He was sharp-witted, this boy who beat about the bush, but chopped it down before others would notice the delay. He was prone and known to regret and forgive and make forget what he had done.
He was rash in his actions. He was careful in their consequence.