Polar worlds

His world was for the sane. A place you go to where you don't smile often, yet don't frown often, too. You have that face that says you are alive just because you have no where else to be. No reason succeeding that. A life with a clockwork routine, a mundanity even in the fun. You know when there is a beautiful row of rose bushes on the lane you cross everyday, you see it for what it is - for the real beauty of it, only at the first moment you see it. Then from the very next second it becomes something to accompany the mundane of the clouds and the cars. And you never even try again to see it in the light of its first beauty - the same way, he chose not to see the beauty of passion, of the very essence that constitutes life and love.

She on the other hand, brought up on a healthy dose of fairy tales, couldn't stop being intrigued by the unknown, the unsaid, the un-done, the un-felt. She could walk by a wonder of the world without having even felt its touch, yet the simplest things like the rays of sunlight took her breath away. A faith on the love she had yet to meet, a yearning for things she didn't know existed, a tear shed for everything that seemed too perfect - perfection chocked her with feelings that had no names.


He crushed her world, her very being - once when she feel in love with him and again, when he walked away.