We couldn't let go but confessions were swallowed as well. We couldn't say it.Too sacred to voice how we felt. Strangulation perhaps. That's the closest. Us is not the suitable word anymore. I am an extension of you; you are an extension of me. And the knife that is going to tear us apart is getting sharper and sharper as we sand it's blade. Every word a piece of the sandpaper. But we are not connected by flesh and blood. Are we? We could just part ways. Wave goodbye. Let go of eachother's hand. Yet I can't. So I wait for the knife to cut through our intervened fingers. Sounds like an amputation one will probably survive from. But I might bleed to death as a result.