No one knows that beneath the calm placid surface of her being is a deep hole. So that she seems like the most self-sufficient, satisfied individual. Almost invincible. Like a perfectly contented being who is simultaneously both of and not of the world she is situated in. She seemed to drift a little above. Like a tranquilized fish in a blissful tank, drifting in a vacuum of having enough, being enough. She gave everyone who came across her the impression that she had a quiet sense of fulfilment, she had a secret they could not quite get at. That she knew that everything everyone was trying to get, everything they desired, wanted, needed was all a game they sucked at. A game they played to lose. As if, she contained a secret to a private nirvana that only she had attained, but to everyone else the entry was denied. Stored somewhere in those half smiles, silent laughters, that self assured walk of hers, and the way she met people's eyes like they were an equal in a strange way. Like she saw right through the redundance, foolish fronts people put up, straight to the essentials. Like she could not only understand them,but she could manipulate them in ways both parties knew but did not know. She seemed to lack nothing, as if she was the only human ever to be fully completed. While the rest were just slipshod works from the lesser angels.

Sometimes, she almost believes this herself. In the way she is reflected in the eyes of others as something extraordinary. She almost believes the lie. She almost thinks that she is special, sometimes looking in the mirror, she thinks she sees more, sees herself like how others sometimes saw her. But she knows that beneath it all that hole which always feeds on unfufiled needs and desire is still there. Still unconquered, still gaping. She wondered if it was laziness that drugged her with a false sense of peace. She tried to become more normal, to fit in like the rest. To want more, to desire more actively. To feel attracted to things, people, places, experiences. But she did not want these things, they way others wanted them. She saw people in love with that blissful glow, she enjoyed watching their happiness overflow a single lover so they both merged in a floodpool of bliss. Soaking, stroking. But she felt no attraction to having the same for herself. It was good enough knowing that there are lovers out there. It was good enough. But yet, the hole still beckons, still craves. Not like the way some drank their livers away, or smoked their lungs to death, or had so many one night stands just to temporarily seal up the hole. The lack, the hole was there, somehow in balance, somehow neutral though it still grasped and tugged.

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He lived always on the edge, always on the verge of falling. He loved the way others thought him dangerous. Thought him ridiculous. Thought him wild. Thought him passionate. He lived not with that hole of desire, he lived on it like a smoker living off cigarettes. Like a life source that was itself an absence. He flew through life like an uncaged bird watching the rest of the world down there in slowmotion trying to find their way out of the maze. He thought everything foolish even the life he drew so much thrill from. He always wanted more. More. But he could not live off himself alone, he needed others there not just to satisfy his need, but to create more needs. So that that hole never closes. So that it never ever reaches an equilibrium. People who have met him thought him a demi-god. Their gazes revealing to him that he had something while they lacked that same thing was his addiction, his justification to his existence. He with his charismatic smile, making the rules bend around him. Making the world follow his beckonings. Flirting with danger, daring life. Meeting people's gaze with his intensity so that they cower, or shrink back, knowing that he lived on the border. Knowing that he could cross over to where they would never dare. They feared him. He, knowing that the odrinary, everyday life was a fiction, he made himself live that lie, love the lie. Afterall, it was always the moment. The hole he lived off always made the present moment present.
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She stood still watching the world busy itself by rushing around aimlessly. He sped through life so that the rest never catches up way down below. Both lived in an alternative dimension.

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What if, one day he sees her, and she sees him.
He flew by, the rest of the world a slow blur, until he saw what is stationary.
She stood still unconscious of the speeding mass of people, until she saw his shadow speeding by and she looked up and saw the sky for the first time.
Their gaze met. The way superheroes and supervillains understood each other the first time they looked each other in the eye. The nemesis's first contact, making the whole world fall neatly into place. It is all same with love and hate. They give everything meaning, marking things with new significance.
Perhaps, she loved him, he hated her, she hated him, he loved her.
perhaps, she saved him, he destroyed her, she destroyed him, he saved her.
Perhaps, he freed her, she trapped him, he trapped her, she freed him.
Perhaps, he touched her, she touched him.
Perhaps, they disappeared like how matter touched with antimatter disappeared.
Perhaps, she was out of reach to him, he was out of reach to her.
Perhaps, she would spend her whole life waiting for his shadow to pass by and could only look at him. And he would spend his whole life searching for the stationary sign to give his life meaning and could only look at her.

Perhaps, they saw each other, they did not see each other.
Perhaps, everything happened, nothing happened.