two men

The two men started off at the same grade school. Same teachers. Same food. Same friends.

Then came high school. Same classes. Same harmful chemicals. Same music.

Followed by college. Same college. Same dorm room. Same girls.

Literally.

Then off they went into the world. A globe has no corners so I will avoid that expression.

They meet up like two kids back from a scavenger hunt. Eager to show the other what they have found.

One is a writer.

One is a yoga instructor.

Both descriptions provide more questions than answers but that’s fine with them both.

They have all night.

It all boils down to this. One of them now twists his body into torturous shapes and the other twists words. They find they are both inflexible in their own way.

Fill in your own metaphors here. They did, but in the end it just seemed too neat and tidy to be satisfying,

Each respects the other on one hand but thinks the other is wasting their time on the other. Both hands are as sincere as the handshakes and fists these hands form during their discourse.

What’s the use?

What’s the point?

But they both avoid the question “does it make you happy?” and hope the other doesn’t pull that out as their closing argument.

You call that healthy?

Fruitcake. Freak.

The two men started off at the same grade school.

Then came high school.

Followed by college.

What was her name?

No need to ask.

She had a child by one of them and married the other.

One left, one stayed.

The boy calls one dad and the other is his father.

Did they really think it wouldn’t come up?

How can you be so blind?

One is a writer.

One is a yoga instructor.