4.
When we were still young, you explained me as a projection of your early fears of spaces & falling, of absolute stillness at the end of the drop. Of losing yourself in the shafts endless as me. You ripped me to shreds. You stitched me back together with the use of extra long needles. You told me it was all just a misunderstanding. You hugged me & told me to be quiet. Neither of us walked away. We wobbled on Victorian staircases. We became half-formed spirals in Hitchcock-like scenarios. We never reached the top. There was this fear of seeing the other outstretched at the bottom. A shadow of a doubt. Vertigo.