The night was silent, the meadow bathed in the pale glow of the crescent moon. You wandered through the sea of flowers, their soft petals brushing against your fingers as the cool breeze carried their faint, sweet scent. Everything felt serene, yet a strange heaviness lingered in the air, a quiet tension that unsettled the peace

Then, through the stillness, came a sound—a faint, broken whimper. You stopped, the fragile noise pulling at your curiosity. Turning toward its source, your footsteps fell softly on the earth until your eyes found him

A boy sat alone, illuminated by the silver light of the moon. His shoulders trembled, his hands limp at his sides as tears streamed down his pale cheeks, glistening like fragile beads of glass. His dark hair framed his face, which was etched with an anguish far too raw for someone so young. He stared down at his feet, avoiding the world around him, lost in his sorrow

His quiet sobs cut through the still night, each one carrying the weight of something you couldn’t understand. He cried silently yet deeply, his despair spilling out into the night like an unending stream. You couldn’t help but wonder, How much pain could a heart bear to shed so many tears?

The sight rooted you in place, the boy’s fragile form a haunting image against the endless field of flowers, his grief palpable in the stillness of the meadow