Friends are like the green leaves of a tree.
They fill temporary yet vibrant colors in the odd, monotone frame of the tree.
But with time they turn yellow and sinister, drain even the old odd colors and leave the tree dead at the autumn's last breath.
With a smirk, they fly away, leaving the winter winds to whip the naked tree cruelly.
They repay the tree's delicate kindness with agonizing and merciless frostbites.
But however dead the tree is, it has to bear the new leaves in the first dawn of spring.
For it is afraid of the isolation and the death without them.