Parallel Lines

Two parallel lines.
They could be the number 11. They could be chopsticks. They could be the two flagpoles standing tall day and night in the courtyard of my school. They could be the lines on the math paper I detest with all my heart. They could be the white lines running along a straight road with seemingly no end to it.
They have so much in common. They have the same gradient, mostly the same direction, similar equation forms, and often the same plane too.
But they never meet.
They could also be the lives of two people who have so much in common, but they never meet.
It’s frustrating. It’s beyond infuriating to know of someone who’s uncannily similar. Someone whose personality, though definitely not exactly the same, is attractive. He’s kind, warm and caring. Someone whose features are a bonus. Someone who is strangely as innocent and as pure as anyone can get. Someone who stands because he’s rarer and you don’t see that type of people often, let alone that type of people in his position. Someone who is different and special. Someone who can be loved.
But can’t.
The pain lies where the love given can never be received. It can never be reciprocated. It’s not the kind in the fantasies and dreams within sleeps and between sleeps. There’s a tiny chance the lines may cross one way. Who knows? But that chance is so small that the path is perpetually parallel. To the human eyes, it’s parallel. To the finite mind, it’s still parallel. In dreams, perhaps the most unlikely scenario can play and offer a churning comfort for the soul.
Ultimately, it leaves the soul empty.
Empty of hope and love. It’s been given out wholeheartedly even though there’s a knowledge that it’s never going to be returned. It’s been sacrificed for fleeting emotions that have no worth in them because it’s not received. Reality hits and it’s pointless. Whether one heart decides to brokenly beat faster does not make a difference. The heartbeat of the whole is all that can be seen and felt to a tiny extent. One heart does not make a difference.
One missing beat goes unnoticed. A really slight difference in the gradient goes unnoticed.
Perhaps it is in eternity that the lines will cross. Because after all, they’re parallel. Parallel lines never meet. They go on to infinity.
Side by side. Quietly, discreetly, unfashionably. Running side by side towards a new beginning. Towards an end that could lead to a new beginning of never-ending.
Even the tiny hope of the slight gradient in the lines allowing a meeting in eternity is insignificant. It can’t be given, it can’t be received. The desperation stays on one side and he never feels it. Never even knows about it. It’s lost between the Big Things and the mess of Small Things that keep both totally unrelated. There’s nothing that could join the two together. That one possible thing is such a small chance that it possibly goes on to eternity without actually happening. The other small chance doesn’t lie in the hands of the giver. It lies in him, in the people around him, in a miracle. It’s horribly maddening that nothing can be done. There’s so much that’s waiting to be done, that’s longing to be spread. There’s so much that can be done and that can change lives. There’s so much possibility in the impossible.
He doesn’t even know I exist.
There’s so much pain in being aware of the greatest experience that could ever happen. That two things match and can actually blend together to be two parallel lines that go on together forever. They can run on the same path with the same equation, gradient and direction. They can be one.
The sad thing lies in knowing how much parallel lines have in common and how they will never meet.


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