The Splendid Veils

The thought of being with you, the thought of being with anyone and the comforting delusion of the surroundings vanishing into nothing more than a thick cloud of haze. And the fear of this very haze engulfing us and lifting us high above everything else, to the point where our feet struggle to find ground and bury themselves in. The calmness that comes after, the loneliness that comes after and the painful reminders of a distant past; I don't like them all.

The fleeting glance, the teasing yet almost annoying denial; almost. Just when I'm on the verge of tripping into the abyss, you hold me; hold me and try to pull me toward you so gently that I'm more afraid of dragging you along instead. These games we play incessantly, yet we never dare ask who is being played in this affair. For it is not each other but one's own self. This much is clear, brutally so. 

Then why the futile assurances, why the hopeless rationalizations and why the constant anguish that stems from it after an almost amiable standstill; somehow more akin to deception. We all are victims of the splendid veils we so painstakingly construct and which, not surprisingly, are merely a naive adaptation to hide and protect our deepest feelings. I have walls around me and so do you. And so does every single one of the person who tells you otherwise. 

The more I try to pull myself away and the less difficult you make it to do so, I am drawn helplessly into this vortex, realising we are not very different, you and I.