You’ve never seen two humans look at each other the way they do in the visiting area of a medium security federal prison.

Recently I’ve been visiting a friend of mine who made some incredibly poor decisions and ended up in one of these facilities. For those who’ve never been, going to see a loved one is a long, arduous process that makes the airport security check seem fun.

You may only enter the visiting area with one key (to your car presumably), your I.D., and under $20 for the most horrendous vending machine snacks I’ve ever seen. You have to remove your shoes and coat and pass through a metal detector. If the detector goes off then you’re subject to a full pat-down.

Once in the room you still have to wait for whomever you’re visiting to clear several security check-points. This generally takes anywhere from 30-45 minutes.

So, while sitting there waiting for my friend, I had time to take in my surroundings. Every time I’ve gone, the thing that’s stuck out to me the most is the way that couples look at one another. You’d think that the strain incarceration and bleak circumstance under which they see one another would bog down the time they spend in tiny plastic chairs in a room full of other people. But every time I’m there I see, without fail, people of all different ages and walks of life gazing at one another like Narcissus in a mirror.

I don’t know what’s going on with any of them, I have no doubt some less then endearing traits brought the both of them to that place. I would even feel the fool to think that every one of those women are dutiful pursuing chastity in anticipation of their man’s release. But none of that cynicism matters in the visiting room. All that matters is that these people are near one another. Can touch, and kiss, and stare at eyes that move and tear up and smile.

Maybe I’m hopeless, maybe I’m over-dramatic, but if you ever want your faith renewed in the profound nature of human affection, go hang out in what the Wu-Tang Clan referred to as “the belly of the beast”.