and still, children played in the dog shit grass with their parents not far away, the same children who were disgusted days ago by the mere sight of him. now they played alongside the bench he sat on, smiling as if he were invisible, just another beautiful piece of shit scenery. fuck, i felt too angry that he'd traded in himself for a makeshift version of what society defined as "stable."
i feel sick just thinking about it
in an alley i saw him walking later with his hands balled into fists, and he looked weak and feeble from behind. so i followed him into the corner near some boxes and scraps of metal, my heart racing like i'd just been shot, the adrenaline pumping in my veins no more familiar than the warmth of the sun. god, he was crying, and i could hear it in the way he took each unsteady breath beacause his shoulders shook in the twilight. i remember vaguely that he reminded me of a crumbling wall or building at that moment (but he was never a wall, or a building, he was always a mountain).
i wept for him and he turned around to face me, my tears making me feel like i was drowning in his scent mixed with rainwater. my arms wrapped around him. strangely i felt absent. he pulled away then, and there was nothing left but a smile on his face, so fucking wide it could've made me sad if it hadn't been so true. god, if i could've only captured the way his eyes looked when he fell to his knees, finally broken of all the hope and faith he somehow had in humanity. if i could've only held him as he fell like a mountain.
gone, gone, dirt poor beautiful