Sometimes I get tired. And sometimes I feel fed up with your
lies, your half-truths and mediocre pretenses. Like you
can't face me, like there are no 3 months of being together,
of loving each other and caring almost 'til it seems crazy.
You even ignore me when you walk through my corridor, that
dark corridor that every time I pass through it seems to be
darker and darker. It's the corridor in which you took my
hand for the first time and carried me to the room in which
you loved me with all your strength. But it seems to be
worthless right now. Those memories are mute, unable to
speak their voices and defend our past, present and future,
as ashen as it seems to be.
And speechless you face me, look into my eyes with a deep
acknowledgement that this is our end. This is the end of you
and me both, as we were together. An era that seemed to be
separated from other life times is now divided to both of
us. Each gets his memories in a box. Delivered and checked
marked. We know it's the end but we don't know how much we
need to end it. We pretend more and more each time that we
meet, until the pretenses become us. And then the pretenses
end and there is nothing else left but a word that means
goodbye.