We start a war.
And no, we weren’t enemies.
We were from the same team.
(We thought we could get away with this)
We keep clenching our naked fists to one another’s ache.
Our thoughts keep bleeding.
It seems like we’ve committed to our sins.
We both drained ourselves.
Yes, we are both guilty.
We are traitors.
I betrayed you.
You betrayed me.
But who’s keeping the score?
We are floating in an aquarium filled with reproach and embarrassment and somehow I’m the only one that keeps drowning with all this liquid fear.
How come we are learning to hate each other?
At what point it became a point of no return?
We keep dialoguing with our inner voice.
We keep repeating the speeches we told ourselves to justify our crimes.
None of them are valid.
Still, I feel like a victim and you feel a knife on your back.
Symptoms emerged. One by one.
We feel sick.
We can’t touch each other’s face without feeling sick with unfulfilled unforgiveness.
We become slaves of our habits.
We can’t seem to forgive each other.
Without special effort…
All those memories are alive and all the warnings are away.
Me and you. Sailing beyond all depths.
Laughing under covers.
Alleviating each other’s loneliness.
Rubbing each other’s eyes whenever we felt threatened by an old lover.
The fear of how more intimately we became.
The times I danced with all the heartache all night long.
The times I followed with my fingers, the wire that unites us and how I found every single knot with which we tie ourselves.
And how I discovered that the knots aren’t ribbons anymore.
And somehow all I have left is this rage that keeps sharping day by day.
And everytime I do it, I avoid my void. Once again.
And no, I can’t seem to manage the forgiveness.
Because my fury is marked in my fists.
I can’t rationalize the pain I caused you nor the many times we underestimated each other’s pain.
Cause I’m hurt. I’m hurt because I can’t understand what you don’t dare to tell me.
Cause we never thought we would be facing a brutal damage.
They say love seems to solve everything.
But does it?
Maybe it requires more than just adrenaline.
That being said…
Come back. I know you know the way.
Bring a change of clothes for the next day.
I’ll wear my best dress.
Yes. Let’s go home. Cause that’s all I want to do. Yet, I don’t know how.
Let’s run from this nauseating narrative.
Let’s run towards something.
Let’s detach ourselves from this atmosphere.
Don’t be a victim. I’ll quit that too.
You aren’t guilty, because I was, too.
No, we will never be innocent. But we can say our apologies.
Let’s quit this strange and too familiar habit of hating each other’s mistakes.
Just come back. Stay here with me, in this empty room.
Give me your hand. This isn’t a warzone anymore.
Stay here with me in this sterilized room.
You know the way.
Fotografía por Lars Wastfelt
(I share dialogues with myself with a lot of parentheses and suspension points)