There is a poem by Austrian poet "Ingeborg Bachmann"
"Each and every thing cuts wounds,
and neither of us has forgiven the other.
Hurting like you and hurtful,
I lived towards you.
Every touch augments
the pure, the spiritual touch;
we experience it as we age,
turned into coldest silence."
..Even tho, as we age, as we grow together or apart, where do we live towards to? do we live towards to each other? What do we hope to find? Do we hope to find something that carry part of us?..and why do even let it turn into coldest silence? or we just arrive there..?