This is kind of a weird idea, I know, but whatever. xD I blame it on the fact that it came to me at five in the morning. It's also sort of fragment-y...oops. :X
-The Tightrope Analogy-
(because love sucks like that)
She likes to call herself an acrobat, but, really, she's not; of course she's not. Anyone who knows her in the slightest can tell you that (unless the pitiful soul speaking is one of them, but then that's another story altogether). Amateur--no, less than amateur--that she is, the pace of her movement is labourious and unsteady, hardly more than a lethargic crawl at times and quicker than light's blinding speed at others. Some scorn her for rushing so, worry of the danger she brings upon herself, but she doesn't care. Every breath she takes, every move she makes . . . every bond she breaks, every step she takes: all are marked with her clumsy disgrace.
Oh, and let's not forget that her balance is shit, too.
o0O0o
He is the tightrope, the one she stands upon, but, just like her, the term is scandalously loose and more laughable than not. He's more like a harness, really, holding more than merely supporting. He is always around her; it seems impossible for him to let her go. In such a case, the person in question--the one being held, that is--cannot breathe. And she is strapped into him, and his bonds are too tight; and she is weak, and though she struggles against him, she fails. Her limbs are exhausted, her heart aching from lack of oxygen. And so she lets the matter go.
Suspended above the crowd--the crowd that is always waiting, always watching--the pair of them wobble too and fro, she upon him while attempting balance. Her arms flail uselessly, for there is nothing to catch (unless you count her breath, but then again she loses that so frequently that retrieving it has become close to second nature). Instead, she gets down and, abandoning all means of grace and submitting herself to shame, grips the tightrope (or is it a harness?) with all of her human strength. She weeps.
As she weeps, she falls.
o0O0o
He acts as the safety net, and, like everything else in her world, she abuses him. He stands below her, no matter how far away she is; for all he cares she could be teetering as high as the stars she outshines. His arms are always open, and, when she plummets, he catches her. She smiles, grateful to him for saving her life yet again, and he grins back.
Oh, if only things were that simple.
Behind the gesture—of catching and smiling, at least--there is pain. It cripples him, just as her shaky footing has crippled her career, but . . . she cannot see it, this agony she causes, for she has been blinded by the sparkling distractions of her tightrope-turned-harness. So she offers no remedy to soothe his pain, continuing instead to return for what seems like the hundredth time to her tightrope's suffocating glory. There is a smile on her face as she ascends, but she never looks back to see if there's one on his.
o0O0o
She keeps walking, and he keeps holding, and he keeps catching.
But they all keep falling.
You'd better watch out, Cirque de Soleil. The Ultimate Fail Act is coming. ;)
Leave a review and I'll love you forever and ever! :D
--Annie;;/
Sunday, June 28, 2009