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The rain hammered against the bus stop window, each drop a tiny echo of the tears he couldn't let fall. His oversized coat, a faded testament to better days, offered little solace against the biting wind. He was a shadow, a ghost, invisible to the world rushing past. He'd been a shadow for years, ever since the day he'd graduated, the day he'd realized that the world wasn't waiting for him with open arms, but with a cold, indifferent shoulder.

He'd failed. Failed in school, failed in life, failed to find his place in the world. His failures were etched in the lines on his face, the weight on his shoulders, the hollow ache in his chest. He was a failure, a disappointment, a burden to his family. He knew it, and it was a truth he couldn't escape.

The memory of his brother, B, a specter of violence and fear, haunted him. B's voice echoed in his nightmares, his fists a phantom pain that still lingered. He thought of the love he craved, the love he believed he'd never find. He was a broken man, a man who had given up on himself, a man who was slowly fading away.

An old and hard memory hits him,

He thought of his father that time, his face a mask of confusion and disappointment. He couldn't decipher the emotions swirling in his father's eyes, couldn't read the subtle shifts in his features. Was it disgust? Disappointment? Or something worse?

He was fourteen then, a boy on the cusp of manhood, wrestling with a secret he didn't understand. He couldn't remember how it started, how he'd become consumed by this forbidden desire. But the shame, the humiliation, the overwhelming sense of being wrong, those were etched into his very being.

He couldn't remember what happened after that, how his father reacted, how or if his mother comforted him. He only remembered the silence, the deafening silence of his isolation. No one had asked him about it, no one had tried to understand. He was left to grapple with his shame alone, a broken boy drowning in a sea of guilt and humiliation.

He clung to his faith, a lifeline in a sea of despair. He believed in God, in His love, in His mercy. But even his faith was beginning to waver. Was he truly a disappointment in God's eyes? Had he strayed too far from the path of righteousness?

He felt a gnawing sense of doubt, a fear that his bad feelings about himself were somehow a reflection of God's judgment. He wondered if his relationship with God was broken, if he was unworthy of His grace.

But even in the depths of his despair, a flicker of hope remained. A tiny, fragile flame that whispered of a miracle, of a love that might one day find him. He clung to that hope, a desperate prayer in the face of despair. For even in the depths of his despair, he knew that he couldn't give up. He had to keep going, even if it was just for the people who loved him, even if it was just for the sake of that tiny, flickering flame.

He wondered if God could make a miracle, if He could change his life. Or was the miracle within him, waiting for him to take the first step, to embrace the change that he so desperately craved? He was lost in a maze of doubt, a maze with no clear path, no guiding light.

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