Two people I see everywhere. Always doing things two people should do. 

Holding, hugging, hands clasped tightly together. I see them whispering sweet nothings to 
each other. 

Sweet nothings while the whole world passes them by in a haze of bright dull colors, figures of broken up people passing in a flash. 

But they just sit and whisper in a small world they only know. 

Whisper. 

A world that I will never know. 

Whisper. 

These two people look like they were made for each other. 

Gleaming, glittery, glossy everything. Two people never better for each other. 

I’m always chasing these two people. My fingers curl tighter around my books when I see these two people coming my way, a breath gets caught in my throat, I look down at the polka doted gum cement and for a brief moment I enter their world. 

A pure smell, their voices lacing together in a smooth sounding melody. 

And then it’s over. 

My steps become slower until I stop. 

I look back and see the two people get smaller and smaller and pop into nothing. 

It was a smell I’ll never smell. 

A sound I’ll never hear. 

I get shoved by a bulky backpack and am jostled away. 

Time has passed and I find myself thinking about these two people. 

How I will never see these two people again. These two perfect people. 

So I sit and whisper. 

Whisper, whisper. 

And come to terms that the empty space next to me will always be 
there. 

That I, being one person, will remain one and never two.