On Balance Weighted- The City

We walk out of the bar and everything has changed.

I notice the cars first; as inexperienced with international travel as I am, I still find myself knee jerking to "wrong side" when I see the first several pass. Like a template overlayed though, suddenly my mind reconfigures, and I recognize we're somewhere in Europe. I follow my brother down the busy street, as he silently keeps his eyes averted, politely waiting for the final puzzle pieces to fall into place. As we pass under the freeway, he looks up, and I follow his gaze. Emblazoned on the concrete overhead is an inexplicably well lit mural of stars painted golden with the word "Stella" stylized in the center. "Italy then?" He nods "On the money. But you'll never guess the year." I feel like I know it already, there is a still spark in the spring air, as if waiting for direction to ignite, but I do not offer a guess; why draw lines between us where they need not be? Instead I speak softly, as if to myself but with eavesdropping welcome, a glimpse into something unusual pressing on my mind.

"One soul, two formed. Two angels, one sword. Two swords appears to resolve the issue, though I cannot say for how long. Over time a brother brings a second; overtime a brother returns the first.  This train of thought may have gotten away from me in the end, but who's to say when it might begin to come back around again?"

We both let silence fall, that these words might echo in our thoughts and the ether. Silence falls all around as well, the people still walking and cars still passing by, but not a single audible vibration in the air. After some time it is hard to tell if it is my will that this goes on or his, but I glance over to see his expression and it confirms both that he experiences it as well, and we have each chosen not to break this silence. This silence lingers. Half an hour? All night/day? Who is to say?

In time, I speak.

"Let the stars shine bright

Let them sparkle like (fireworks/Wishworks)

All across the sky

This (night/day) has been long

This work seems never ending

Until it is done

Good and right and real

Is this mark so hard to find

They spray paint their own?

Let's walk together

For my instinct is to shred

Rending stone from stone

But you temper me

Saying it will fade in time

Leaving bridge intact

Patience and power

Brothers sightseeing the realms

Power and patience

We each have our strengths

We each bring our perspectives

To our own selves true

Let us discuss truth

In good faith searching spirit

Until heart(s) is/(are) found/(won)."

Unexpectedly, the silence falls a second time, once words have cleared out. Ear ever keen though, I find myself remembering what it was like to listen. The alien nature of this thought comes in waves; the strangeness of remembering a sense in its absence reminds me of  remembering senses before ever having them. Oh the nonsense these hands unearth whilst idle, yet still, somehow memory sparks experience and collides with sensation. The pounding in my chest synchronizes once again with something like a once ever-present drum beat, now replacing what I might only have described as the ringing in my ears. A heartbeat in the silence- scratch that- two. 

As I consider along what lines something of mine may have just been lost and found, the sound of footfalls on pavement derails this train of thought. 1, 2, 3, 4; 1, 2, 3, 4. This syncopated rhythm continues perfectly, despite my wandering thoughts, and I wonder if my brother minds the beat. If he does his face does not show any sign of strain, but rather a familiar determination, as if going to war, or marching to prevent one.  I think of lines drawn- those to be walked, and those not to be crossed- and how complex this path has been, is, and must be, yet how simple walking it feels at this stage. I stop dead in my tracks.

He stops as well, and in the still silence the background noise begins again, fading from barely audible as if someone is turning up the volume on our surroundings. We stand there, ourselves quiet now as the city regains its voice but, while it is still not yet overwhelming, as it had been before, my brother takes another step. I follow, and the city retains this comfortable din, making it feel like we might walk like this for any duration without needing to steal away. I glance at him once again, out of the corner of my eye and, reminded of a recent dream, I concoct a sonnet to commemorate this hurdle that I can sense, on some level, has been cleared.

"Such complex instincts between you and I 

How does the band play without conductor?

With two distinct, do we even need try?

Or is nothing taught without instructor?

These thoughts meander even as we do

But on terrain shared none of us is lost

Steps made simple whilst beginning anew

Time flies by like currency without cost

'You make the call, just say when and we go'

A moment when echo makes bet complete

Family to retain, a bride to find, so

We take our time that dance steps are replete

If we remain unchanged, our aims as well

Night will see rest rearranged, every cell."

We continue walking at a leisurely pace as the city seems to breathe easy all around us. Between graciously green lights and joy filled conversation carried by all passersby, it feels as though we have been welcomed here. Soon after this sense settles, in a synchronized quieting of conversation combined with a conspicuously long break in traffic, the city falls silent on its own now, as if turning an ear and requesting to hear more. My thoughts crescendo in this state, as they are prone to do, and as they overflow into a question, right on cue my brother echoes the same sentiment. "'Where you wanna go?'" A place comes to mind, and just like that we are gone; though it feels like we each carry a piece of this city with us.