Brick

The stones were rough on his skin. He was pass the point of stopping, of caring. Once, he would have cringed about the damage the heavy labor did to his hands. Once. That time was long past. Lots of things were long past.
The grooves and swirls of his skin were filled with stone dust, filling in the skin like the cement used to grout the wall. It wouldn't take long now.
He had been working a long time, building this wall high, reinforcing it, making it impenetrable. It had become his life long desire, a life free of entanglements, free of people. Free to follow the life he chose with no regards for the impact on others.
Once, he considered adding a door, a chance for to visit. A way for her to enter, a chance to see her again. Once. But then like his hands, labored and cracked, his heart was slowly turning to concrete. Maybe in the future, someone would find this walled off world, with his stone form and wondered what hurt would have caused all this destruction. Maybe. Maybes didn't carry much weight with him anymore. He was tired of guessing the outcome. The future always stared him in the face, regardless of what he pretended. He knew the end.
And thus no door. She was never coming anyway. And he placed another stone. The tears from his pain crept from his crusted eyes adding just enough moisture to solidify the fresh coat of dust on his face. Slowly he was turning. Another stone.
One day, soon enough, he would done. No one would ever see him again. The tears continued.