The young one who was not changed by glory

The young one who was not changed by glory

He was a young man, like a breeze in his calm, and the fire in his energy. He grew up in a simple, but deep-rooted house, of origin, like a tree that is not weakened by the seasons. Every evening, he went to the square; either a football square where he ran behind the dream, or the courtyard of meditation for the unknown destiny.

On his way to the ball, his heart was beating for a hidden face, perhaps a glimpse from behind the doors, and perhaps he only saw him in his imagination. But he was going, silent like one who kept an unspeakable secret.

Then came what was not taken into account. A fight, a dispersion, an absence. The family dispersed, and went to another land in search of living. While he was behind the hills in a long march and the news was cut off, and the distances intensified, and only a passing dream remained of the past in every redemption operation, not without a silent reproach in the secret remaining in the chest.

The years passed, and the boy matured. A name that circulates with admiration, a face waiting for its appearance, and rarely read it eagerly. He sang, rose, and shone, but nothing in him has changed. He remained as he was: shy, pure, generous, simple despite glory.

In his presence; (after the change of circumstances); the distant ones heal, and the distant return to the near. He is proudly attributed to those who have never known him, and everyone proudly attributes him to them. But... remains silent. He doesn't go back to the front, doesn't gasp behind the light, doesn't answer questions.

Is it an old pain? Or did wisdom mature silently? Or a decision he chose to protect his heart from noise?

No one knows. But it is certain that his place does not fill. And if he doesn't push himself to the front, who is the one who fills the void after him??