Two types of people. Drastically opposed to each other. In almost all aspects. Nowhere does the possibility of their congruence exist. It can happen a facet or two may align almost on similar lines; however, in essence, a veritable no. This is how it is. A farce.
Heavens know what polarizing force has slashed human characteristics into two. One wakes up in the dark, runs at full speed along the ups and downs of daily life, sleeps at twilight. Touches on everything with utmost care, ruse, and guile. Keeps the dampening factors at bay. Thinks. Plans. Schedules. Executes. And winds down.
Emotions don’t come their way. Even if they do, they’re too faint to nudge them. They’re not a force to reckon with, as they say. They arrive easily and fade in seconds. The recipient – as if robots, unaffected by psychic knocks. Rushes forward. Blinded to everything. Yet careful of everything. Where comes tangible, intangible exits. A mystery baffling enough.
When the two meet, it’s as if they collide, radiating with emerald brilliance. To the point. Face to face. In person. Cautious. Mean business, you know. No point of aberration. Error. Mistake. Anger. Love. And beyond.
Contrast such inbuilt characteristics with the second type, and suspicion grows about the intelligent design itself. Poles apart. Two creatures: two stories. That remains linear, this-disconnected. The first one sprints; this-crawls. That exhibits astute advancements; this-always confused. Frustrated. Here. There. And always nowhere.
This one always wonders, factors in the tiniest of the irrelevant details, gives in to occasional bursts of short-lived emotions, and takes refuge in the dark corners of their shelter. Eyes shut, worrisome thoughts swirl through their minds, exhausting the last remnants of emotional energy. Playing in dreams. With themselves. With others. With God. And demon at the same time.
Bottomline
It’s normal to be satisfied with what you are bestowed with. Thrusting one individual hallmark onto others equates to going averse to the natural scheme of things. We probably know nothing. Beyond what we think we know. Which, most of the time, is like white hair enveloped by swathes of black ones.
So long as we continue to exist, the binary, stark realities of humans shall remain tall. As they always have. As during the lifetimes of philosophers and scientists. Artists and mathematicians. Warriors and pacifists.