Saber words and wordless fighting, all the makings of a war.
Just no resolution at the end, and no one keeping score.
The main objective is the progress of this process, to project all you can muster.
And what is expected of the other is, in truth, obeyed by design.
All the colors of a seasonal fall, the warmer hues contradicting us all because we know very damn well what cold is to come.
So wrap your jackets around your torso and glove your hands before the slap because my face is still bare and completely prepared for your crap.
Instill it in my veins with your hit, i beg of it. I want to feel the burn against my skin.
This cold war has lasted 40 years now and the storyline is starting to spin. Ending where it begins, but we pretend we dont know this anyway because we're bored and we want more ice and snow, any excuse to avoid stripping nude and displaying what bruises reside below.
"Dont show it" we cried.
"We are stronger than that" we try to believe, or attempt to believe.
"Hide!" you plead, the voice deep inside my mind.
I hear the echo of yours as well, as if together they are preaching like a choiring lead aligned.
Acquiring greed, which is expected of the other and is, in truth, obeyed by design.