Imagine waking up and realizing your mirror walked off with your heartbeat. That’s what it felt like—like someone took my spark and tried to organize it into spreadsheets. Jayne calls it “balance.” I call it “boredom with better manners.” Still, I get it. She holds the gravity I burn away.
When I see her watching me—careful, tender, terrified—I know she’s not my opposite; she’s my anchor. I crash into life so she can piece it back together. It’s a beautiful, frustrating tango, this push and pull. I make the plans, and then I make the messes, and then I let her sort it all out. It’s not a bad system, really, if you don’t mind a few scorch marks on the floor along the way.
Maybe that’s what wholeness really is—not a perfect blend, but the constant dance of flame and shadow, daring each other to keep burning. And sometimes, when the music stops, I catch her looking at me, and I know we both feel the echo of the one we used to be, the one who was both of us at once. It’s a bittersweet waltz, this life of two. But I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
>Soulkyn