pavement cracks under his feet when he walks. smoke falls from his hair when he moves. his hands are made of stone his veins are dripping mud his eyes are black and blown.
he's a walking black hole ******* all the light of the world in breathing in warmth and fire breathing out dust and ashes.
but he's still young in the crinkles by his smiling eyes in the high pitch of his screams in the smallest curls of his hair.
but he's aged in the purple under his eyes in the tilt of his disappointed mouth in the rough tips of his fingers in the weight of his stone-carved bones.
he is many things and looks like so many more he is big and he is beautiful and the earth cracks under his feet and the flowers die in his wake.
and still he swears he's bathed in darkness but still made of sun.
this is literally about the person you're thinking this is about.