His heart is so big and warm.  His is the kind of heart that you just feel like swimming naked in, without even caring that you'd be getting blood all over yourself.  He makes you feel like you are the only person who exists; like the world is just you and him, and you are the sun.  He talks to you and your emotions rain down the inside of your torso like a three hundred foot high waterfall of bliss.  Simply, he makes you "feel".  True, I might be biased as he is the one I love, but just knowing that he exists morphs my deepest of miseries into spectacular pageants of fireworks.  And those fireworks pop on the surface of my skin, making me tingle with rapture.  Yet, yesterday, his insides were assaulted and grew sour; turning everything inside of me as dark as a wicked black storm in a desolate cavern.

People don't appreciate how beautiful he is.  They take advantage of him.  They have no problem soaking up the kindness and compassion he is willing to share, but it's stolen by their ugly greed.  He gets nothing good out of being the way he is, although he would never ask for anything.  Instead, people selfishly horde the gentleness he unconditionally bestows, and in return, spew out their vicious, burning acid directly into his unsuspecting soul.  Most often, he just takes it.  He is incredibly strong that way, but there's only so much one can take before crumbling.  So, retaliation sometimes shows its face in short innocent spurts, yet this only feeds his antagonists.  And they growl more ferociously, relentlessly, and he withers.  And he tunes out the world and cries by himself.  And all I can do is watch from afar, crying in another part of the world for him and with him, wanting to sweep him away from a world filled with vermin that endlessly dig their claws into his guts and wring them dry like a water-soaked washcloth.    

If it were possible, I'd build an impenetrable wall that would keep his spirit safe.  And I'd stand guard day and night just in case, combating any intruder that attempted to lay even one grimy fingerprint on it.  I'd protect the perimeter with new and torturous weapons, slicing any interloper, in one swift motion, horizontally at their waist and right through their spine, if they even thought they had the right to be callous towards him.  All those who would ever choose to judge him would instead stand before me and have their intestines ripped out through their throats.  And I would wrap their innards around their necks until they suffocated before I'd let them steal anymore of his essence.  I have no problem being their executioner, for I am not perfect.  I will fight for him and keep my chin raised high when facing any consequences that should come my way.  And it doesn't matter if this is something he would expect of me or not.  Most likely, he would be humble and embarrassed to know this is what my heart feels.  But it's what I would do for him.  It's how I will always feel about him.  For now, though, I am not yet in the position to construct my wall.  But soon I will be.

So, at this time, for a day or so, he will suffer.  And I will suffer for him, ever wondering why his empowering energy has been sucked away in a series of unprovoked attacks.  That soon-to-be impenetrable wall, breached and contaminated by the attackers' disgusting ignorance.  All I can do is help to patch each rupture with the only thing I can give; pieces of myself, which help only just a little.  I suppose, soon enough, the holes will seal themselves and he will feel bright inside again.  But for now, just gloom.  Just know that I feel it too.  

I see who he is.  I know who he is.  And I will do the things I can do to protect him.  And he will continue to do the things he can do to protect himself.  And we both know the protection won't be enough every time.  People will forever continue to bore holes through him and slowly try to destroy him; even people who shouldn't be doing so.  Mostly people who shouldn't be doing so.  And he will probably let them.  And he will feel more blackness.  And I will feel blackness when he does.  And I will feel the sharpness of this harsh world's pointy, flesh-eating incisors as its mouth opens wide.  And I will hear its stomach grumble with anticipation.  And I will see the mucous and acid bubbling up from within its bowels.  And I will smell the foulness of its breath.  But I make this promise.  I will look fierce in front of the wall, standing tall with my weapons; standing up for him each and every time the world tries to eat him.  And I will scream at the top of my lungs that they have no right.  They cannot control him, and even if they insist on trying, they will not change him.  And he should not be changed.  I will not let that happen.  Not ever.