There was a time when

I witnessed your beautiful soul rays,

shine through your eyes.

We were still young when your childhood died.

I did nothing to comfort you as the days passed,

though I did feel a portion of your sorrow.

I remember more than one day where

I had ample opportunity to save you.

One day, you waited alone in a crowd.

That light had gone from your eyes

but I preferred spending time with those

who still had joy.

I assured myself that you would be okay.

Yet, not long after,

you helped me, despite your

broken soul and my selfish inaction.

With your tender hands,

you connected lines as you rescued hope,

from Doubt,

only to give hope to me.

I assured myself that you would get better.

As the years passed, we grew distant,

and you became Oppression's favorite captive.

However, you still managed to openly smile and laugh

even when your injuries became interlaced with the physical realm.

I tried my best to be there for you

when I realized how damaging your pain became,

but it was too late to heal the bond we had

when we were young.

I struggled to stop myself from crying

when I saw your tears freely

flow for the first time.

Though I yearned to hug you,

I never found the

"right moment".

At least, I got to hold your hand.

Your hand

that drew images for me, all those years ago.

Your hand

A member of your injured soul.

Your hand,

that now held

the hand of the soul

who left you to fend for yourself all those years ago.

I think that day was the last that I saw you.

Since then, you've courageously

embarked on a journey to start anew.

Dear friend,

I am so proud of you.