...but you don't need to write a song about it. It wasn't a bad cry, nor were they happy tears. They were confused and conflicted. My emotions ran crazy as he spoke because I had previously noted the scars on his left arm that used to be open wounds, bleeding...trying to take away his pain.
He was a recovering alcoholic, addict, and he was recovering from depression and suicide attempts. He made me cry in public. The first man to EVER make me cry in public. I wanted to save him. I wanted to hug him. I wanted to give the same speech that is scripted into my head when someone is depressed. But then I realized that's not what he needed. He just needed someone to say "I'm here"; he needed support. And I hope he knows that he will always have it from me.
I met him and rarely talked to him until the last week of the 8 weeks we had been near each other. That's when I realized that he just needed support. He will always have it from me.
I also hope he knows that he changed my life. He let me see the light when it began to fade. He matured me. He let me see again when the darkness was taking over. He was my flashlight.