Alter Ego

She stands close to the edge, so it feels like the train is going to hit her when it buzzes by. The wind feels nice. It's her city-version of going out too far in the ocean. She has a death wish, constantly challenging her life wish.

That's what she shares with him. He likes that she looks death in the face. He likes that she craves it. But it's her cowardice that keeps her alive. And he likes that, too. She's reckless, but vulnerable. And she likes it that someone is watching. It's a new sensation -- someone else seeing. Exhilarating.

They are unified, silently. Words are obsolete. After all, they share the same thoughts, why would they need to speak? Even if they don't, who cares? The thoughts don't even matter. Being matters. They share that, purely, undisguised. They don't have to muddle it with words and thoughts and muck. Not only do they accept each other, but, more importantly, they also accept themselves through each other.

She misses herself through him. The self that throws caution to the wind. The self that doesn't care about anything but adventure. She misses feeling cool and confident, open and unabashed. She misses sharing the silence with someone. The silence is still there, the someone isn't. She goes back inside herself. She could be herself with him, but not when she's alone. She looks ugly through her own eyes, plain and boring. She looked better through his eyes, strange and interesting.

Once he's gone, she easily slips back into self-loathing, stripped of that filter. All she sees now are flaws. She is a coward. She is a fake. And her life? Empty.