He was always so happy. A ray of light in an otherwise dark room.
He smile seemed to bring warmth and happiness wherever it was aimed, and his laugh could have been the cure to depression— if one allowed it to do so.
He swept people up in his pillowy giggles that danced around the walls of whatever room he was in, swaying by themselves in an attempt to reach everyone's ears.
His voice was sunshine and butterflies, it was the cool breeze on the beach at sunset and the crisp chirps of the neighborhood birds at sunrise. It was soothing and yet excitable.
He seemed to burn so bright no one could possibly miss the effect he had on a room, it was somehow a hue of light, whatever color that may be, and yet the very moment before a star bursts, so brilliant and out-of-this-world that you forget danger is looming.
He was the boldest star, the most fiery spirit, and that caused his downfall.
Because eventually his light gave out.
He was a star millions upon millions of years old, and it had been burning too bright for far too long, and it created an earth shattering explosion.
He used his entire happy meter in the span of twenty-two years, and he couldn't seem to recover.
He was a man with a broken aura, no longer blazing and shining, as it now sat in a pile of wasted potential and unfixable pieces.
He threatened the sun with his luminance and lost,
now just forced to ever be an empty shell of a boy who was too afraid to dim in a world of shiny things.
He was once the sun,
and now he's shattered.
