The iron posts carried pains nobody in his home would ever know about. It guarded him through the endless nights; its arms and legs, tall and unmoving.
The others had always told him that he needed to behave like a ‘man.’ So, Alex grew out his beard, buffed up his chest, and laughed at the gory movie scenes.
That night, he shoved his face into the cotton cloud and poured out the rain from his mind. He screamed, shuddering from the storm exiting his hefty body. Until he lay there, limp. Lifeless. Emptied.
His wife walked into the room.
“Hello honey,” he blurted, his spine upright in bed, his lips stretched from ear to ear, and his cheeks as dry as paper.
The moment had passed. Nobody would ever have to know.
But on that cotton cloud, the tiniest damp spot peeked up at him, happy that it would go another night unnoticed by the others.