The Last Tear walks alone

A young man with a warm, sun-kissed bronze complexion and smooth, chiseled features, his striking crystal blue eyes seeming to hold a deep wisdom, his small, enigmatic expression hinting at secrets kept, his long, flat black hair falling to his mid-back like a waterfall of night, a delicate crystal blue teardrop pendant suspended from a woven chain around his neck, catching the faint, misty light, wearing a crisp white button-up shirt, layered beneath a light brown leather hide vest, adorned with intricate, hand-tooled patterns, his faded denim jeans tucked into scuffed, oiled work boots, as he strolls slowly, lost in thought, through a lush, emerald green grassy field, the gentle drizzle casting a misty veil over the landscape, evergreen trees rising like sentinels in the distance, their branches etched against the grey sky like a delicate pen and ink drawing