The rain, how it falls so selectively, from the clouds, those black, angered clouds.
The walls, the division between you and I, and the rest of the surrounding worlds perils.
A queue in which I must stand, with others, of whom hold no comparison whatsoever to myself.
A social collective of wrongdoers and done, three to one, as we converse over a dwarf sized coffee table.
This is your face, as it lights up upon the realistation that I, your loyal friend, have taken time out of my day, to make this visitation a possibility . And this is the smile upon my face, as I realise that you are still well, still you, still baring the heart of gold that you had when we first met.
This is the tone of your voice, that tells me that all is as okay as it can be, and your sense of humor, that makes you, you.
The sun begins to shine through the weathered and filthy windows, between the rusted bars and into our conversation.
I will leave here with the knowledge engraved in my head and heart that you will pass through this period and exit quite simply the better man.
For now, my friend, this is goodbye, as I up and leave the room, turning back only to watch the smile leave your face, yet remain prominent within you.
I miss you friend.
You have my heart.
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