#1 ·
It was one of those days, just like this one, except instead of this crisp fall air and the yellow leaves everywhere, there was this heavy, humid feeling in the air—like a long, endless summer was about to hit. Before that moment, we were nothing. Not even friends. Honestly? I don't think we even liked each other. At least, I didn't like you. You drove me absolutely insane. Your whole vibe, the way you carried yourself, that weirdly polished, high-society elegance... it just rubbed me the wrong way.
Then, out of nowhere, we ended up close to each other, and I hit this wall of energy that literally shook me to my core. It was like a massive electrical surge running through my body, so intense I almost collapsed right there. I never dared to ask if you felt it too. I mean, obviously, you can't. We aren't supposed to even be in the same room together.
But, whatever, it happened. I stumbled into that current by accident, and I’ve never been the same since. That shock changed everything. It reset me. It was like being reborn into some parallel universe. I split. Like an amoeba or something. One part of me stayed stuck here in the real world, and the other part was born somewhere else entirely.
The two of us? We’re a total mismatch from the jump. Different faiths, different races, totally different backgrounds—everything about us is worlds apart, except for that damn energy that tethered us together in some unseen dimension or some alternate reality.
We’re adults with lives and responsibilities. Everyone’s got their own stuff to deal with, right? We're so different, yet so similar at the same time. While we're talking about completely pointless, trivial crap, your eyes catch mine, and our mouths are busy reciting polite, formal sentences, but our eyes are basically screaming. Neither of us says a word, but it feels like we already know everything.
The version of me that stayed in this world had to just keep going, acting like nothing ever happened. But the other side—this dark, hidden part born in that other universe—that's the part that hangs over me when I sleep. When I dream, I'm living with you in that private world, a world totally separate from this one where we have to see each other every day and pretend to live normal lives. It’s like living two lives at once. And in only one of them are we actually happy. Without touching, without saying a single word, without any outward sign, the black and white just bleed together, and I feel this overwhelming sense of love and peace.
Nobody gets hurt. Nobody suffers. No one even knows about my dark half. Not even you.
I had this dream once where I was on my deathbed, and I was filled with this crushing regret because I never told you how I felt. Maybe I should tell you. But I’m terrified that putting those words out into the air might ruin this "dark" version of me—the one I can't imagine living without anymore.
I decided to protect my "white" world, because there are people in it who depend on me, and my "dark" happiness might end up hurting them. So I chose to wait, hoping this energy would eventually fade, die down, or just vanish so I could go back to the way things were supposed to be—just two shallow acquaintances who run into each other once in a while and move on, forgetting all of this. But years go by, and the energy doesn't budge. It doesn't weaken. It doesn't go away. It just latches onto me like a shadow, following my every breath, every word, every thought, every single sigh.
There isn't a shred of sadness left in me that doesn't burn away the second you walk into the room. There isn't a bit of misery that isn't scorched by the fire in your eyes. There isn't a tiny piece of my soul that doesn't sing the moment I see you.
Why couldn't we have met somewhere else, at some other time? Why does this incredible feeling deserve nothing but judgment and hate from the rest of the world? And why am I so scared that one day we'll have to tear ourselves apart, leaving me to suffer endlessly in my perfectly "white" little world?
Then, out of nowhere, we ended up close to each other, and I hit this wall of energy that literally shook me to my core. It was like a massive electrical surge running through my body, so intense I almost collapsed right there. I never dared to ask if you felt it too. I mean, obviously, you can't. We aren't supposed to even be in the same room together.
But, whatever, it happened. I stumbled into that current by accident, and I’ve never been the same since. That shock changed everything. It reset me. It was like being reborn into some parallel universe. I split. Like an amoeba or something. One part of me stayed stuck here in the real world, and the other part was born somewhere else entirely.
The two of us? We’re a total mismatch from the jump. Different faiths, different races, totally different backgrounds—everything about us is worlds apart, except for that damn energy that tethered us together in some unseen dimension or some alternate reality.
We’re adults with lives and responsibilities. Everyone’s got their own stuff to deal with, right? We're so different, yet so similar at the same time. While we're talking about completely pointless, trivial crap, your eyes catch mine, and our mouths are busy reciting polite, formal sentences, but our eyes are basically screaming. Neither of us says a word, but it feels like we already know everything.
The version of me that stayed in this world had to just keep going, acting like nothing ever happened. But the other side—this dark, hidden part born in that other universe—that's the part that hangs over me when I sleep. When I dream, I'm living with you in that private world, a world totally separate from this one where we have to see each other every day and pretend to live normal lives. It’s like living two lives at once. And in only one of them are we actually happy. Without touching, without saying a single word, without any outward sign, the black and white just bleed together, and I feel this overwhelming sense of love and peace.
Nobody gets hurt. Nobody suffers. No one even knows about my dark half. Not even you.
I had this dream once where I was on my deathbed, and I was filled with this crushing regret because I never told you how I felt. Maybe I should tell you. But I’m terrified that putting those words out into the air might ruin this "dark" version of me—the one I can't imagine living without anymore.
I decided to protect my "white" world, because there are people in it who depend on me, and my "dark" happiness might end up hurting them. So I chose to wait, hoping this energy would eventually fade, die down, or just vanish so I could go back to the way things were supposed to be—just two shallow acquaintances who run into each other once in a while and move on, forgetting all of this. But years go by, and the energy doesn't budge. It doesn't weaken. It doesn't go away. It just latches onto me like a shadow, following my every breath, every word, every thought, every single sigh.
There isn't a shred of sadness left in me that doesn't burn away the second you walk into the room. There isn't a bit of misery that isn't scorched by the fire in your eyes. There isn't a tiny piece of my soul that doesn't sing the moment I see you.
Why couldn't we have met somewhere else, at some other time? Why does this incredible feeling deserve nothing but judgment and hate from the rest of the world? And why am I so scared that one day we'll have to tear ourselves apart, leaving me to suffer endlessly in my perfectly "white" little world?