Did they enter the world together, or did they find each other along the way? The union of their physical and spiritual selves could not be identified; unlike their great, yet totally unimpressive divide, which could be traced the single, sooty second.
The two of us stood on the platform in a daze of hopeless confusion, as our inaction forced the final seconds to pass too quickly. A solemn, grey girl boarded the train and watched the faceless figurines paint themselves with pretty colours. Rows of Plasticine people sat on shiny, purple seats. While perfectly silent, they all asked the same questions – why am I leaving? When will I be back? When will I be with her again?
We were all looking for the same thing; the reason we must leave ourselves behind in order to find ourselves. They all seemed okay with the dreadful, internal ache which tore our wholes into antagonistic halves. I hated them for the sole reason that they reflected all of the pathetic things I hated about myself.
Expressionless faces were inoffensive and worn by every well-dressed mannequin. There were no signs of obvious markers but we all seemed to follow a common path – along silver, screeching pathways, and the claustrophobic, cemented arteries of the cities.
I looked in every shop window for the girl I left on the station. I couldn’t see her in the clothes they tried to sell, I couldn’t see her under the bright lights of the club, I couldn’t see her on the over-sized, intrusive television screens, and I couldn’t see her in the smoggy sky. So instead, I looked down. We all looked down because all of a sudden, the only certainty was the sound of our feet on the concrete.
As we found our places again, on those same purple seats, we smudged the pretty painted colours into a unified brown. Tangled and untied, missing ourselves like old friends. Keeping on writing and erasing all of the words we forgot to say, from our chalkboard hearts.
There stood my better half, waiting where I left her with the blessing of the most foreign facial expression. I am pretty, but she is she is more. When I am with her I am a reflection of all that is beautiful around me. When I am by myself, my prettiness is forced to stand alone in silent competition, and it stuggles to carry itself.
She is the smell of the cleanest air, the touch of the warmest clothes, the sound of the softest birds, the sight of the green-est streets and the taste of the bitter-est sweet. We would have never left one another, yet by walking away, I found her.