Who was once a young man, was now old. Each crease on his weathered face told a story of despair, each wrinkle fisted by his skin spoke of lost moments and a ravaged faith.
Somehow the light wasn’t right. There was something about the way it fell. The way its brilliance was somehow reduced to an ornate monstrosity that illuminated the harshest details of his surroundings. The way it fell. As if gravity were pulling it down, shackling it to the mundane earth. Bitterness crawled inside him as he studied the light forcing its way through his bedroom windows with relentless grace. The warmth of the sun had urged him out of slumber; slowly, insidiously. Obliterating the peace he had found in his dreams. The peace he fell into night after night, clinging to its tenuous threads with the strength of a dying man.
Somehow the light wasn’t right. There was something about the way it fell. The way its brilliance was somehow reduced to an ornate monstrosity that illuminated the harshest details of his surroundings. The way it fell. As if gravity were pulling it down, shackling it to the mundane earth. Bitterness crawled inside him as he studied the light forcing its way through his bedroom windows with relentless grace. The warmth of the sun had urged him out of slumber; slowly, insidiously. Obliterating the peace he had found in his dreams. The peace he fell into night after night, clinging to its tenuous threads with the strength of a dying man.
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