They are outed by society, those cruel and unloving things. To the average person they are not even worthy of being called human; below even the most vicious of creatures rank the unloving.
How would one interact with them, after all? They feel no sympathy or empathy, displaying no emotions. And they are terrifying in that aspect, not strong. So alike to a human in form, yet so different from what is expected. We cannot understand. We do not want to understand, and so we hate them. They fuel our nightmares.
And he was okay with this. He'd long ago learned to clasp his own hands for warmth, curl into his self on those coldest of nights, draw his shoulders up to lean on. His own shoulders the only ones he trusted, the only ones he needed. On two well-weary legs he continued endlessly. The direction mattered not, where you go matters not, so long as you keep going.
You can never rest.
People go about tying the red ribbons of life with others, knotting tightly together to never let go. And when it came time to part they had to cut loose, the laceration eventually sewn back together. No matter how tight the stitches, however, one never quite forgets the slice, the mark it has left upon your life.
People came and went from his life with ease.
You never have problems with torn threads if you never knot your ribbons.