Disclaimer: don't own it, blah blah. They be back in a minute, really. This is velly short, don'tcha know.
Degrees Of Seperation
There are many, many different degrees of seperation.
A moral barrier that seperates you, as you stand before him, staring in accusation as you wait to hear the dull thump of a life he has chosen to end, as it is extinguished. You think he is wrong. He thinks he is right. You never speak of it.
A physical barrier that seperates you, icy blue in color, through which he stares at you, his fear reflecting your own perfectly, as you beg him to leave you behind. You see his anger, you feel it, as he pours his rage out against a control panel, trying to bend the machine to his will, to yours. He fails to free you and still he will not go. Part of you revels in the fact that he remains here, that he has not left you alone, whilst the rest of you is silently screaming for him to go on and live. He has to live, for you. Even if you are seperated, even if you are no longer with him at all. Even if you, yourself, do not live.
An emotional barrier, when after three months of gut-wrenching toil, of impossible scientific achievement, his lack of response to you is almost enough to drive you down onto your knees in renewed grief.
These are the degrees of seperation that make you wonder if it is all worthwhile, if it would not be better to be elsewhere, anywhere, doing anything but this.
Yet there are others.
The moral barrier that seperates you, only allowing a simple hug after you have been fighting alone, desperately, for your life, for a week. A simple hug that means so much. The same barrier that means that the word 'always' will, without fail, also mean so much to you.
The physical barrier that seperates you, the same one as before, that lets you both, at last, at least see what you feel in each other's eyes. Not that either of you can ever say it.
The emotional barrier that seperates you, giving words, spoken in a small, grey room, to a machine and so few others, infinite meaning. Words so true, that they have to be sealed away. In that room. The same barrier that means that aslight wave of his hand and two words give you comfort, give you security. "I know."
He does.
You do.
These are the degrees of seperation that give you hope. They are the reason to go on.