Today couldn't be merrier for me, as I live thanks to the liberation granted to me on this sunny, bright day. Certainly, it was raining for him, as it always did on this most amazing and glorious day on which I thank God for my lovely and perfect life. I can only hope that although his eyes may be clouded by the precipitation that pestered him so often, I may be able to clear them with the brightest blue of beyond the boundaries that separated he and I. Maybe not, but one can attempt to cure the sadness that they've startled into existence. I jog up to his porch and rap on the door furiously, as opposed to the casual strolling I usually am so used to. Excitement shoots through my veins as I wait eagerly for him to open the door so I can comfort him, console him, before he reaches for the alcohol…the knives…the pins and needles…before the pain I know he goes through every year on this day continues to torture his continually deteriorating health. I'm thinking back, and I realize only now that every year he's been here, alone, and every year he comes back to life in worse and worse shape. W-why? Why does he do this to himself? Does he realize what he's doing? Does he?