He has him.
Hands tucked in pockets,
He walks in the drizzle,
inhaling petrichor and a scent of nostalgia.
He sees a boy with his ladylove,
dancing in the mizzle,
happy and crazy in love.
He then passes by the same person,
but now a young man,
all broken with a wearied out face,
sitting in the wooden bench,
alone in the shower,
fighting against the tempest in his life.
He walks, and then he sees that person,
now as the same age of his,
Better than before.
The man started to walk with him.
That man hold his hand,
he helped him and he loved him.
Never he felt this much better in his life.
And then suddenly he recognised the person.
He smiles and he continues to walk
to the unknown.