Hey hey, I'm tired too. I'm tired tired tired. That's the truth. I don't think I can do this anymore. I don't think I have any more time left to give and you need, need, need, like a child. I have no more strength to hold your hand, and I know when I let go, if I ever let go, you won't struggle to keep me with you. But hey hey, be still, be still, you know I will never, never let go. You know it. You belong, here. I'll hold you, hold you, so tell me your nightmares, every single one of them. And everything will be okay. Even if I'm tired and resentful, even if I say I can't do this anymore, even if I've given and lost and sacrificed everything, I'll swallow it all down and push it all aside and everything will be okay. I'll take care of you. I'll be here for you. I'll love you, in spite of my loneliness, in spite of my troubles, in spite of my own being, I'll love you, love you, love you, until it hurts and there is no more pain but only more love, until there is no longer any reason or logic to love (perhaps there never was), until it becomes an instinct, an automatic mechanism, as natural as a breath of life, a note in a tune, a word in a poem, or utter and complete silence.