Prologue:
Why
is it that our hands can never catch it? It is always within reach
indeed but if in due's time it's as if that's it -- the fruit of all
your labour is all yours for the taking, it slips away from your hand
as death engulfs man. It's through that constant breathtaking climax
of the race that you subconsciously trip against the minute of rocks
and it brings you to the greatest downfall at stake. It is when
through those constant eye contacts and hidden smiles brought forth
your confidence to act in behalf of your deep emotions that you see
them walk hand in hand with another. It is when the europhiotic
infatuation wears off and love conquers all other emotions and
numbness that you have to be unwillingly parted by fate in order to
get back down to the earthy ground fruitful of reality. It is when
lips are to be one that the littlest of motion startles the
consciousness within reasoning. It is when friendship is blooming
into the depths of
something more fruitful that one has to leave
to where they bloomed. The hurt is of the greatest when all is to
unfold and nothing is there to do but to watch it slip through the
grasp f your palms for there is nothing left to do but to let them
be...