Throw me a bone, let me catch it - it's mine, but you threw, it's yours, please don't take it –
oh no, don't you see that you crave it?

Hands wave through the window, smoke swells as it blends -
disappears to the skies in the midst of goodbyes, shattered tear drops in eyes,
'will I see you again?'
I won't try to offend, so I promise you friend that we'll meet at the end...

But the tunnel is dark, there's no light:
'hold my hand, hold it tight ‘cos I’m scared; my heart I have bared'
I’m pathetic, I know - I’ve known for a while,
but the tunnel turns red as you give me that smile.

Through the window you promised me,
(pain flowing through pane)
and I hold to that promise of life we shall see -
for what's left of us then, when the smoke settles down,
white ash all around, and my bones on the ground... 

What do you call that stage between relationships? That point where you're apprehensive about leaving, and anxious about entering ... It's like being on the platform of a railway station, not knowing which train to board because you're scared that it may not head in the direction where you want to go, yet overwhelmed with a sense of adventure that the next stop may be the place where you've been wanting to go your entire life.
We make promises  that everything will be okay, not knowing if it will, but believing we have the ability to make it so - even if not for ourselves. I'm reminded of old war movies, where star-crossed lovers stand on either side of a window, "I'll see you soon" he says, "wait for me ...". She waits, and she waits, and she ...