The clouds imitated the roar in his heart. The rain sounded as heavy as his suppressed tears. He used his long, healthy locks to hide the pain. He needed to scream. He needed to use expletives that would shock the most foul-mouthed of his friends. Just last week, she had told him things would be alright. It had been only two days since she had left. His older sister could cry. Anywhere and everywhere. She could grab anybody’s hand and burst into loud tears. But he had to remain a man. Well, if real men don’t cry, let me be whatever I am, he thought, and threw himself into his despair. Right then and there.
Real men don’t cry