#1223

In his dream he crumples to the ground, face buried against his folded legs, fingers tearing at tangled locks of hair. In his dream he weeps, great racking sobs that rock his hunched body, muffled only by the press of his mouth to quickly moistening cloth. In his dream he doesn’t bother to reign in the sorrow but surrenders completely to it instead; he is too tired, too worn, too done to feign normalcy anymore. In his dream he allows himself to shatter, knowing only here there are no repercussions, and upon waking he will wipe whatever tears have spilled over from sleep and force a smile once again.

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