when will we meet?

and in that soft echo voice i could hear the pain culled from a thousand years' experience.  under the thunderous aggression there is a heartache so real that i reach out to feel it  slip through my fingertips. but i am left empty.  to bathe in your despair, the mist of hot tears tickling my lashes, would be a moment for the ages. the purity would cleanse and mend with soft sighs and careful glimpses. oh, what it is to be constantly in the company of a dream, to be ever taunted by the stars and sparkles of night.  this pain is mine, you've shared.  now let us weep and save this water to again mend and leave us able to return. a promise is a promise.