Think of us as lines. He brought his hands forward uncertainly, as if discovering them for the first time. Bringing them up to chest level, he made a rigid slicing motion. Both hands in sync and parallel to each other, shoulder-width apart. Lines, parallel to-
He paused and looked down, maintaining the stance for at least four breaths. I saw his shoulders heave, a momentous act in this air of still. He moved them closer, almost touching but never. More like this.
Now, say one of us-you, chose to head towards my direction. He brought back his hands and sliced the air again, with the left hand slightly deviating towards the right. Air, the invisible steak. He failed to consider the implications of representing me with his left hand. The subconscious, I know very well. Right is to dominant as left is to.
I almost smirked at this seemingly insignificant piece of knowledge.
And when both lines meet, they do not cross. He reenacted the colliding motion again and again, again and again. Fingers tip to tip, forming a narrow, miserable triangle. They collide. And we say hi, thinking that we would remain like this forever.
These lines obey the rule of the same creator. Human is to age as line is to. They move-continuously, until their time runs out. And they shrivel away and deconstruct, like they had never lived. And we collide, engaging in the inevitable power struggle where one tries to break free of the other.
The nature of lines is independence-seeking. Because you see, when we’re moving ahead in an inverse-V shape, one is bound to push past the other depending on the sum of all energy present in each. It’s the friction that kills.
And the energy level never remains the same, so even if we possessed the same amount of energy when we meet, such that we end up traveling ideally on the same line, there is a higher than high possibility that one will eventually push the other off the edge.
Palms and wrists together, he made a firm push. The left hand sprang away. This impact is huge, because the entire body, the entire line is involved in this battle.
And what is left behind is but a broken soul.
He brought his hands back, slicing the air again. Parallel, parallel, close but never touching.
So, do you still want to travel where you are headed?
And where am I headed?
*For jeffchrisbenji’s musical composition (go guess who the hell that person is)