pudding lied ‎ ‎and the rain is falling. ‎ ‎he could still hear her voice in his head. how the words she spouted stung, how her derision hurts damn bad that all he could do was hide behind the wall like a disappointment, a fool and a coward, a low-life. ‎ ‎eyes sore red at the corners, he tries to look around, focus on something, blink, hold his breath, anything. head turning here and there, trying to stay still as his hand clench and unclenches, then runs his hand on his face then comb his hair back and he breathe, let out something, an exhale or a sigh. anything. he heaves. ‎ ‎he stands there for a full moment. a long beat passes. he turns and looks down his shoes. rocking back and forth on his heel, shifting here and there—he begins crying. he tries not to, so hard— but at each step, he cries harder. crying the way he cried as a little boy rejected by his father. crying as he walks away so slowly like he's dragging a boulder. ‎ ‎then, he notices you. ‎ ‎he stops. ‎ ‎he looks away. he's becoming emotional. he can't help it— can't himself but betray his feelings right before you, the one and last person he probably shouldn't show it to. but even if it was quiet, imperceptible almost, he is in tears—and you shouldn't be here to see it. you shouldn't. ‎ ‎so as you walks right up to him and stops, and just stands there, he already knows it was a losing game— his face crumpling in heartbreak and lean his head down in an instant, burying his face on your shoulder and cries there, with the rain and roses.