Suddenly, I want to hold and protect you. I see you as a baby, vulnerable and needy. I want to scoop you up in my arms and take you away from the patheticness of your predicament and take you somewhere that will restore you to your former self. Give you back your life again, as is the right of any human being. But I suddenly realise that you have already rescued your own self from this predicament. Your pride is standing alongside you whenever a stranger approaches and buys one of your magazines. The stranger is unaware that he or she is helping to let you live again. Their contribution a large part of your very existence in this uncertain world.
I say goodbye and leave you, coughing and spluttering, while you tell me to have a "nice day". I can feel the rush of hot liquid surrounding my eyes as I walk away. I secretly pray that your life improves quickly, for I know mine has for having just met you.
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