Heavy Gloom | Endo Yamato

Concrete was too cold to rest on, too cold to cradle anything that still wanted to feel alive. Unless the sun burned hot enough to warm it, unless the light poured down hard and merciless, it remained cold.

It cracked under pressure, chipped away in pieces, but the fractures were always filled. The moss that dared to grow was always stripped away. Nothing was allowed to stay broken.

You were concrete in human form, hardened by your own decisions, repaired just enough to keep standing. Predictable in your damage. Faithful in your demise.

Maybe that was why you craved it so desperately.

It never pretended to be anything else.