There's something about Kurt Cobain I cannot stand-
Maybe it's the whole " young and tragic" thing, but that would go against my ongoing obsessions with other young and tragic people I'll never meet. The young lass sitting across from me would never forgive me for vocalizing these thoughts. However, at the moment she is busy. A pen clutched in her hand, scribbling furiously and pausing now and then to check a steady stream of texts from whom I assume is her lad. her hair is completely out of her face, as opposed to mine, which hangs like a curtain in front of my eyes.Looking at her is like looking in a fun house mirror- our corresponding piercings are the only physical similarity between us. Our features blur and distort, as fun house mirrors do. But somehow, I always see her looking back- a cleaner version of me. This is not a compensation, at least, not in my eyes. Just proof that everyone has a kindred soul- a horcrux, if you will. Someone who, when you see them, you see a piece of yourself hidden in them as well. And as with any good horcrux, their pain is your pain and vice versa. But unlike a horcrux, I did not choose the people I see staring back at me. There are few other souls I know upon looking at them I immediately see my own dirty reflection blurred with theirs. And for some strange reason, I know the phrase "we're with you, whatever happens" thoroughly applies.
The moral of this story: Splitting your soul seven ways isn't always a horrible thing.
Until next time, stay classy kids.
Short Story: Diner
3 years ago