Angry words dangerously suspended in mid air. Thrown across by the gullibility of a vulnerable heart. Lurking like demons to irreparably damage the intended. Some fail; miss the target and others craftily find a fragile part through our guards. The car is resplendent with heat and turbulent with emotions. We go round for a round. Empty the empty blames on each other. We scream through the dark, ready to charge towards our respective insecurities. We take our timidities by the neck while our capabilities watch shamelessly. We wring the weakness of our liaison and we shatter the vessels of our morale. We drain the energies out of our expectations. More angry words, more painful accusations. Our hands thrown up and fingers pointing threateningly. Peremptory knocks on fellable doors.
4am of a cold, inflammable night. There are families somewhere in the neighborhood who have fallen asleep inside their composite lives. There are trees that are figuring a way to come back in the spring and wind that is making a momentary stop outside this car. But we are too consumed in our disorganized little version of dysfunction. Maybe we should roll down the window and let a little trust inside. Maybe we should stop saying another word and reflect a little on that sad Cypress standing starkly in the cold. Maybe our defenses will cost us this night. Our doubts will expend a million moments. Maybe we should touch each other. Or just look into our eyes a little longer, with our mouths shut and endearments open. Maybe we should look at ourselves in the mirror, like that, waging this war, inside this car. Maybe the pregnant silence that will follow will reconcile the fragments of this night. And join this night back again, dot by dot.
Maybe we will find a way to unlock our vulnerabilities inside this locked car. May it be.
art title - demolition/vulnerability
artiste - Amy Jackson
url - here
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