Looking into the eyes crying at the imminent separation, holding the hands that hold so tightly back as to cut deep into the holding palms, listening to the voice issuing forth out of imploring lips that twitter as if for eternity, one can all but be struck helpless, and speechless. I'll keep my words you mark my words I'll come to pick you up as early as I can you just hang on there and trust me I'm always keep my promise am I not you need to let it go for only a short while and I'll be back before you know it now dry your tears keep your head up move along I'll be with you all the time here in your heart and here in my heart you'll always be with me.
There always lies the gap, the discrpancy, that disrupts the coninuity between the words spoken and the hands letting go. A heartbroken betrayal. And a betrayal fighting against which is the sole consolation that almost unlimited time is at disposal for unending repetition of the betrayal.
How can one ever stop shuddering at the final instance of such separation when death sets in to turn the hands cold, the voice mute, the words empty, and the tears stone? That is why I cannot stop crying at every instance of separation from you before I cannot cry anymore and can hold your hands no more. Just let me cry, before the moment that comes at last to make my betrayal forever irrelevant.
