Some day they’ll go down together;
And they’ll bury them side by side;
To few it’ll be grief
To the law a relief
But it’s death for Bonnie and Clyde.
They’re enslaved to each other. Not destined, not compelled; enslaved. For other words are too soft, too romantic. And neither of them are soft nor romantic, for such words are to be implied on lovers, and they’re not lovers (although a lot of people claim them to be in love), no, they’re prisoners. They’re prisoners of the sound of the other’s echoing laughter, the tenderness of the other’s voice when shrouded by sleep dust, the way their bodies molded and crooned against each other, and the touch of velvet carapace beneath fluttering fingertips.
Slaves; just as defenseless, just as submissive.
They were once strong, liberate, autonomous. But that was before they clashed. Maybe this was their way of paying for their sins? Such a vulpine conspiracy, to diminish their independence by each exhale whisked by the other’s inhale, to intensify their dependency in such a way that each breath alone is hardly a breath at all. Which is why distance is their worst enemy, for whenever they’re apart, every single cell in their bodies screams for the other, pleading for the agony to stop; like missing an eye, or an arm, or a leg, the absence of the other meant deprivation for both.
Once invincible and extraordinary souls, now bound and withering.
They’re an everlasting chaos; reckless and made of glass. Of course, they make each other stronger. But they’re also a poisonous flaw, a deficiency to their durability. Even history can confess that they’ve never been as vulnerable as they are now. Not only are they weak, but they’re utterly oblivious of how fragile they are; they’ve lost their ability to stand alone, so they fall codependent.
Codependency’s a tragedy, and tragedies are not to be romanticized.
"To care, to bleed, to hate and to die.” Under the roof of an abandoned motel, they vow breathlessly.
Earlier that same day, they almost went down together, almost got ran over by those who wear the law as their badges but breathe insincerity. Only then, handcuffed and bruised, did they realize that one day they’re going to be a destructive myth and nothing more. That is why the promise lingered in the misty air around them, sealed with clashing lips and intertwined fingertips, before they fell asleep.
