We had our first fight, if you could call it that.
More like a breakdown of emotion; crumbling under self-imposed pressures and truths we refuse to accept.
You confessed to me, in the heat of your moment, things I didn’t think you knew.
I can’t do this.
Now I’m the one backing away, unlatching myself from loads too heavy.
I don’t want to do this.
We promised not to get this far, to do these things and share these thoughts. The waters of destiny dissolved our arbitrary plans.
And what of the barriers? Will our Berlin crumble as well?
I should not be doing this.
Old promises echo, reminding me of past mistakes.
You hear your own skeletons, rattling their bones in warning.
I don’t know about this.
You feel too warm, too secure, too right. Your flaws are too apparent.
Hide them so that I may claim I was misled, beguiled.
Take it all back. Your intrigue, your hope.
Should we do this?
It’s too late for maybes. It is done. We’ve succumb to the nature of this beast.
With much resistance we are consumed.
This isn’t right.
How could you invade me like this? Surely I know better. Surely you know too.
We shouldn’t feel like this. We both know what hurt is. I don’t want to be torn apart again.
I love you.
Those words sicken me but it’s coming with time. Overused and cliché.
I promise to keep fighting. I vow not to fall. I swear to hide the bruises when I land.
As if it never happened we will pretend. You should pretend too. Stop giving yourself away in those rare moments.
This is right.
Neither of us expected this.
We won’t stop.
Certain things are out of our control.
The Dreamless Sleeper 