We’re a team and you don’t let your teammates down.
We train because we’re not the best yet. We’ve won countless matches already, one step closer to the championship but nowhere near it. One step closer to the finish line but we both know that one wrong move, one wrong pass, one miscalculation and everything can fall apart. Well not everything, we both know that we’re stronger than that.
We were both born fighters. Born and bred to fight for whatever it is that we believe in. Born and bred to face adversity head on. Born and bred to be resilient, persistent, and determined.
We have this sickness, this festering disease that we refuse to cure. It plagues us both, it hangs over our heads, and soon enough a coup de grace will be delivered and we will no longer have the power to deny it. They give us salves and potions but we refuse to take it. We’re stubborn that way.
We can’t win anymore matches if we’re sick. We can’t be the best because we’re not at our best. We can’t take another step because we need to rest. The race isn’t finished yet but we can no longer go on.
I’m about to throw in the towel, I’m about to step out of the race, but suddenly you grab my hand and you look at me and I stare back at you. I look at you and I see fresh wounds; I see the scars you’ve licked clean, I see the broken parts of you that only I can see, I see how battered and bruised you are. Are you giving up too? No. We both know that you aren’t.
You’re staring back at me because you’re sizing me up. Am I your opponent now? You can take me on, you know it; but you know you won’t win and you know that I won’t either.
I pull you up but your knees give out and you stay on the ground. I hesitate and I look at you then I look at my hands, my bruised and scarred hands; I’m sick too. I feel a rush to run towards the end of the line on my own but instead I fall down on my knees and stay on the ground with you.
We start crawling towards the end; we feel the dirt and gravel pierce our skin with every move we make. We both feel the hot flashes of pain but we both refuse to cry out. I watch you in the corner of my eye and I know that your eyes are on the prize. I laugh because I realize that I forgot what we were fighting for.
I keep crawling refusing to acknowledge the flashes of pain. I know you’re doing the same.
Somehow we get to the end and I look at you, you’re starting to look a little bit better. Is that relief in your eyes? You’ve licked more of your wounds clean while I wasn’t looking. I see bits of you sticking out and I patch you up before you grab my hand and start walking towards a place you promised me.
We could give up now but we choose not to. We’re beaten up but we’re not broken. We’re tired but then we realize that we’ve made promises that we intend to keep/
I consider this a bit dark and well, it’s about the dark times people go through in their relationships. I’d love to hear what you think about it!