Cryptic

I made you cryptic, didn’t I? The truth is we grew into each other not like lovers or happy families do, but like tendrils and thistles. It affected me too, you must know that. Where else could I have gone, after I fell into you like some bumbling guardian angel? You hid, and I hid with you, what choice did I have? I couldn’t have a voice in the world without you, couldn’t perform what was suddenly my only function without your help. So we both had to wait, but as we waited and our voices failed to unite we remained threats to each other, and so our lives – our life – became a cryptic waiting game. It was as if our story had ended the moment it began, ended with no beginning or end in sight, the moment we found each other on that concrete path between the thistles, like some Kaspar Hauser with his failed teacher.