They are the only people who get who I am. I am the only person who gets who they are. Two old friends with miniature bodies and growing hearts like mine. Two who do not need me but rely on me. Two fond memories planted in my brain. From my room, I listen to them, but John just sits and does not understand our friendships.
Their bond is strong. They sent deep messages on the phone. They helped me up and brought me down and they took me in their arms and never stopped caring. That's what they do.
They forgot their reason for it, they’d both separate like a sheet of paper ripped in half, though helping each other in in need. They help.
When I am too happy and too worried to stop stopping, I am a considerable part to limited roles, then I see my friends. When there is no one else to go to. Two who were there despite difficulties. Two who care and don’t forget to care. Two who have many reasons to help and help.