I was looking outside the window when he reached for my hand.
“Can I ask you something?” He said. “Why does he make you so nervous thinking that we are not alike?”
“No, it doesn’t. I just feel it’s nice to have something in common,” I replied freeing my hand and turned around to face him.
I could perhaps lie to him but I could not lie to myself: as much as I tried the thought of us not having much to share did make me nervous. This popular concept that our attraction to our opposite is a subconscious way to face our weaker aspects and become a more complete individual is nonsense. Why do we need “another half” to make up for something that is missing?
Something was missing though. My soul had got lost somewhere in that dark loft lighten by a weak patch of sunlight on a cloudy afternoon. I got up and went looking for it and there it was: I spotted it sitting in the corner facing the wall like an offended person who turns the other way; like a child grounded by an irrational mind.