Picture this for a moment: You are all alone in an island in the middle of nowhere. There’s ocean as far as you can see with one exception: Every several meter or so you see another island just like yours, maybe a little smaller, a little larger with more o less trees or rocks, further or closer but you can tell that they’re similar to where you are.
Now what if you can communicate with the other ones that are in each island? You yell at them, you throw messages in rocks or bottles, you use smoke signals or a bonfire and morse code. There’re many ways you can talk to them. And as you do, you begin to build a bond with some of them. At first in a metaphorical way, but then you take a step forward and begin to build a literal bridge. You decide that your little raft is not useful for your purpose anymore, you have a need for interaction.
At first you have weak paths made of some logs, branches and ropes. And as time goes by, you begin to work together to make that bridge stronger than yesterday. Day by day you get to notice that you’re not longer alone, your island is surrounded by all kind of bridges as different as the bonds you built with each person. And you cross them, not everyone everyday but you do. But at some point you return because your island is the common point and home.
Obviously, you know that not all relationships last forever, and not all those pathways have the same strength. So you burn some of them, some of them are burnt by someone else and some are burnt together. For years you continue this burning and building as if it’s a normal part of life.
Until we begin to build ours, you and me, and we built it good. In no time we made a massive architectonic masterpiece. We used concrete, iron, steel and stone and no wind, tide or earthquake could move it. We crossed that gigantic structure everyday, several times a day. Sometimes we didn’t even went back home at the end of the day.
The thing is, even then, we tried to take it down. And with all our efforts we succeeded. We burnt it, demolished it and turned it into nothing but ashes and dust. it worked for us… for a while. Little by little, we rose it again. We had to put it together from ashes as an infinite puzzle, put all our efforts in the task and we finally made it taller and larger than before.
But again, we took it down. Why? Just because. We are and always have been two of a kind (a very tricky and complicated kind), for the good ad for the bad. When two obstinate mules try to pull in opposite directions they go nowhere. And we were obstinate, weren’t we?
And this routine goes on and on for years on end. And as we grow older, the up periods get longer and the down periods get shorter. As we grow, our friendship grows stronger, more resistant and elastic than before.
I don’t know why, as hard as we try we can never disappear it completely. Call it fate, will or just obstination, but I think that maybe we were not made for being apart. Or maybe we just don’t want to, we’re too good at it.