Between our pendulums of fear, we were swinging…

We held hands.
Across all spaces,
over hypothetical dimensions,
colliding without touch.
An unusual occurrence,
the expressionism of two people,
as a contrast
to the sophisticated individualistic art.
You and I, cut off,
but together,
hitting each other,
always so close,
always so imminent.

Between our pendulums of fear,
we were swinging on our own.
Side by side,
body to body.
And between us these metal universes
instead of human souls.

We oscillated,
from misunderstanding
to complete alienation,
proportionate balance,
like those who have wavered
dividing us into wrong and different,
trying to calculate the acceleration
by which they separated us.

You left me a dream catcher
on a pillow inside that fear once.
You weren’t sure what to do with it,
except to stab it between the ribs,
feeling the sharp ends of each feather
with each movement, scraping the aorta.
You held your breath while you slept
so there’s more for me
and you didn’t move your head off my chest.
As dreams go by like beacons,
faster and faster,
colliding with the fog.
You wanted to catch each one with me.

But, you didn’t know I knew your dreams, too,
and that, by some miracle, only the worst ones could become real.
I saw you dreaming of our pendulums,
how they break into countless pieces,
how they move,
and each piece broke the silence
they took from us,
those who don’t understand expressionism.
Those who would alter the direction
of something created to change theirs.

And I didn’t tell you I believe
that they will throw us, break us, turn us around,
crush our dreams,
hit us on the bloody ground
where they left their inhuman traces.
I guess I wanted to resist
and give a chance to our naked bodies,
our silk and steel bones,
to endure a heinous act
of those with the skin of processed leather.
Those who believe arrogantly
that their armor is of steel.

Before they turned us upside down,
I asked the protagonist inside me
should I sew you from silk,
and myself from steel.
If the answer was negative,
I wouldn’t go underneath
your generous nature,
already sewed from delicate material
that you picked for me.
You on one side of the universes of steel,
me on the opposite.
You hit the first one, I, the last one.
We made them weaker.
Hanged between us,
they didn’t even notice that they fired,
that they shoot.

When I woke up,
I didn’t feel pain.
I was beside you again.
Our pendulums touched,
and this time, they stood firm on the ground.
There were no wheel failures
from our reversals to the unknown.
On the contrary,
you squeezed my hand
as confirmation that we didn’t break.
You looked at me
and I haven’t seen any pain that inhabits
your unreliable landscapes
where you hid when you didn’t want anyone to find you.
I cringed at their safety,
into dormant, comforting eyes,
into the unstoppable force of your gaze.
And you just whispered:
I chose steel, too.

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