Why ever do rightness unto another, when distrust is gathered upon you, blanketed by those I once did love? It is you I love, yet it is they I am forced to resent. It is you I am forced to say is the most important essence. That, to go back to a former time, would mean my death. It is you who cannot let me go, when hands are wet from the cold waters of a winter ocean. With ease, hands can indeed slip free the burden of all guilt.
Why weigh us down, under love? It has always been you who I have loved. It has always been you, I can hardly fathom. It has always been you, to the day that I die, that you might die with me. It has always been you that when you disappear, will be when I cast my final breath.
My love, from trumpet call to scraping the strings of violins, I can feel the stir of something warm. Yet, for their sake, I bury it. For their sake, of the ones I once did love, I bury my love for you. And, only when I hold you, can I know what I will raise. And, only when I weep upon your name, can I know what has been built.