I once walked the dark, cold streets of life alone. With my head down, away from everything that mattered, I pushed forward in one direction, toward one goal. That goal, however, stood at the end of the street behind bars. He sat in that place, alone, with no comfort, no hope, and absolutely no way of escaping.

He called out to me. I broke out into a run, heading toward the only thing that mattered to me. People, hundreds, thousands of people, stood in my way. Every time I passed a few of those people, over came one obstacle, something else was in the way.

I desperately wanted to help him. My penchant, my want, my need for him was overpowering. No other thoughts crossed my mind but those of him and what I could do for him.

Finally, I made it through the mass of people and to the front of the bars that held my love inside. We reached out to each other, our fingertips almost touching—so close, yet so far.

And then we gave up. I sat in front of the bars in hope that one day, somehow, they would let him free. And when they day came, would he trust me to still be there?