Living, Dreaming, and Dying

Never in my life has saying goodbye been so difficult to do than now, when I’ve had to repeat it, over and over, but couldn’t bare to say the actual words. I feel helpless against the adversity of circumstance. I hold her with arms that are too weak to hold myself up alone, or the torrent of emotion back. Saying goodbye is a wretched thing to do; it means that the next time I see her, I will be happier than the last time, but it will be even more painful to leave. I couldn’t imagine dying being any harder than this.