I failed to lose you

The morning, while raising me, I know that you will be there. The evening, you will accompany me at the time to lay down me. It is simple, regular, creature of habit. You like the practices. They are in your nature. The practices make safe you. You feel protected. I accepted it because you will be able to never change what is registered in you. I love you for that and so much of other things. I hate the practices, the routine but you need some to feel you well. It is your nature. I accept it because I love you. I do not stop using this verb. I combine it at all times. I combine it at this so imperfect time of this routine which removes its true nature to him. Moreover, I do not know more really than is only to love you. The morning, you are there. The evening as much. My love is corroded by the practice. This throbbing repetition is only one call towards this vacuum where I am spread out with too much ease. I understood it, yesterday, when you slipped, that you knocked yourself. You staggered. You failed to fall. I felt your pain, the danger which had just threatened you. I was afraid of this dreadful, violent fear which produced a fault in me. There was at the bottom the vacuum to lose you. I measured what you represent for me, which gives a direction to our life of each day. Happiness to see the glare in your eyes, their so sharp way to look at me. I had forgotten that I could lose you, that we could lose ourselves. Your fall broke in me the word to like and its routine pollution of each day. I replaced it by this fear which we could lose forever. It is sharper, stronger than this verb to like than I hate, hate, if easy to use but who will never summarize what I felt when I failed to lose you.