Somedays, when the voices around him plunged into a violent chaos, he would get up from where he lay. Wordlessly he'd walk out of the door, every step seemed to pass right through the flooring. Such a silent yet determined gait, he held. While the insides of his house painted themselves red with the blood of broken words and hearts, he doggedly kept his stride in synchronization with the silence in his heart.
The caresses of the wind that once he held so dear, felt like a wasteful largess now. It swept bittersweet memories into his eyes, like a battering ram through all his defences. He reminded me of the teetering top in that moment, right on the edge of falling. But as vertigo captured him, he became aware of the fall that loomed before him.
Sighing, he set to work picking up the pieces, before the cursed wind swept it out of his control once again.
And there it happened, where it always did, like an unlearned mistake. Before the moment completed itself, he was submerged under the weight of his overbearing sorrow once again. Like a schoolyard bully, it tossed him around.
And as his heart finally came to terms with the inevitability of its hopelessness., he embraced the pain. Holding it close to his heart like a returning lover.

No longer barred, the tears finally flow, steady and slow.