In the fractured beaks of the suns gleaming glaze and the solemn shade of a once dim light room, stood a man of lost virtue. He stood alone, towering in his intimidation and muscular frame, yet quipped by sorrow and despair. The grief was a shame to him. His palms casted a shadow over his face. For he believed such an indulgence in emotional expression was
the epitome of cowardice. A reflection of what he deemed all his life as unmanly and grossly petty.
Deep down underneath the sheaths of his heart was. Emptiness.. Though his immaculate posture of strength and muscularity begged to differ and had acted as a shield for so long, he knew deep down he was a force of nature that was vulnerable once unsheathed. The inevitability of downfall and depression stuck to him like molten lava.
The overcast shadows and lingering shades of darkness danced around him reaching into the corners of his room. Who knew that shadows had arms? Every block of light in the room reflected every inch of his hart afflicted. Through his internal lenses, opportunity, hope, optimism. It was unreachable. His mind layered with angst and sorrow.
Indeed what hurt him the most is that no one would ever see his oppression. The silent dismay, the cumbersome indifference and anger he suffered internally. Though his external presence screamed dominance and masculinity, up until this point, it was all just a dreadful facade. A theatre piece for all who saw him just so his ego wasn’t beat down.
At this. Moment, with his palms overshadowing his face and the sun trying its best to beat on him, he came to a painful encompassing truth. No matter how hard he trains or how many drops of sweat remains it’ll never be enough to suffice for what he truly feels. That bitter edge of darkness. Of despair. Of lost hope. Sometimes the weight that he carries isn’t just in the gym, but in his heart. A weight that his brawn and toughness will never lift.