There's a man, sitting in a balcony in the middle of the park. He's just sitting there, sketching on his notepad. Reminiscing about what battles past lost, wins never claimed and an ultimate sacrifice that is forever torturing his mind. He lost the one most dear to him.
It's the middle of the afternoon, and now sitting on the grass, green fresh grass, he looks to the world not seeing its colors, because his mind is elsewhere. It's in the sketches he draws in his notepad, a sketch of a woman, a girl, a child, a friend, a brother. He misses it; he was used to a smile, a hug, a touch, a joke, a laugh, a race.
He blames himself for that hole in his chess. It's his own fault, he shout's it over and over inside his head.
He lost everything, in only a month. And from that moment on he shattered every principle for which he stand by.
Once a thought ran throw his mind "at least there was love". But it just ran.
He is lost, and with a broken spirit, Next time you see him, just smile, you're not him.
John Scar Kramer
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