Ill

It is a terrible thing when your friend is sick. I just want to run over to her house and supply her with an abundance of soup, medicine, and hugs.
But no. I'm stuck in this house. I just sit here, wishing with all of my might that I can somehow give her my health and take her sickness. Because I know what it's like to be unwell.
You lay in your bed alone, tormented by the hurting stomach or sore throat, the very air of your bedroom feeling unclean with germs. Tissues scattered across the floor. You must stay there and miss many things, unable to enjoy the beautiful weather. I always end up trying to will myself back to health. And while your mother's company and care does help, you still ache for the people you cannot see.
Though I am not sick, I wind up doing the same thing when my friend is. I wander around the house, miserable, unable to see my poor friend. My life is going on pretty nicely, but I can't seem to enjoy it when she is in pain. So I sit here and will my dear friend back to health.
It is the same thing with a sick heart.