Tell me there's no goodbyes...

Not to be taken kinkily, as it is not that way inclined.

If I ever feel like crying, you'll be the first one I go to.
We'll sit outside in the rain, two figures hunched under the weight of misery, heedless of the weather. It will be cold, and the sky will be overcast and grey. We'll shiver, huddled close together, completely lost in the moment.
I will cry, real true crying like you will never have seen from me before, and you will let me. You will let me sob and weep as my make up makes tracks down my cheeks until my eyes are blood-shot and puffy and I have no tears left to cry.
Then we will shift closer, our fingers weaving together, our bodies entwined together, irrevocably together in my sorrow. You will lean forward, wipe the tears and the make up from my eyes and my face with your thumbs. You will press your lips against mine, without glancing round to check if anyone's watching. You will lightly stroke my hair back when it falls in front of my sob-swollen eyes. You will call me beautiful, even with my smeared make up and my puffy eyes, and I will believe you, even with my non-existant self-confidence.
And we will arise, like phoenixes out of the ashes, reborn through salty sadness. You will take my hand in yours, and we will walk away, while overhead the sun peaks through the clouds and a rainbow glimmers in our eyes.