The cold wind of the October night swept through his open window as branches clawed against its ledge. The sky was blue and black, much like himself. He was without everything. Suicide was only a matter of time. Pessimism had long since devoured what was left of his soul. He communicated his sadness through song, but never to another person. The lyrics were too depressing to bear or hear. The canvas in his living room remained plain, the white haunting and glowing.
Contemplating how he should take his supposed life, he absently looked at his reflection in the mirror. Rain began to pound on the glass panes, lightning thrashed the night. Caught off-guard and surprised, he saw not his reflection, but the image of a girl with brown skin, copper hair, and his eyes. The silver and gold flecks of his blue eyes looked back through hers. The mirror had changed from one of physical reflection to that of emotion. Fear lurked in her irises, her cheeks streaked with tears, and her chin trembled. Afraid he was hallucinating, he touched one pale finger to the mirror. The image disappeared while the eyes remained. Not surprised that his solitude was taking its toll on his sanity, he stepped away from the sink as if nothing had happened. Then he felt her hands at the nape of his neck and smelled the scent of lavender. He reached out to touch the shadows in which she disappeared, but found nothing. He heard her whisper jumbled phrases, and was unable to decipher a word.
Instead of being afraid of the dark, he was intrigued. Seldom had something surprised him, and even the company of a ghost was welcome. He sat down and stared into the shadows until his eyes hurt. Finally his concentration brought the curves of her figure and her coppery hair into form. Her curls glittered in the moonlight, her tears like tiny crystals. While the contours and features of her body faded in and out, her eyes remained.
The gibberish phrases came to form words, then phrases, then sentences, and she said through the haze, “I’ve been looking for you.”
“Who are you?” he asked her, running his hands through his own coppery auburn hair. His sanity was definitely gone as far as he was concerned. “I am dead,” she replied, bluntly and uneasily, as if unsure of it herself or afraid he would condemn her for it. Tears welled in her eyes, and he asked her how. She told him of her rare and sudden sickness, how it had come without warning and taken her within days. “It must have been my crystal,” she said, indicating a fluttery image of a smooth stone at her neck, “I wore it for luck, and I guess since luck didn’t go my way in life it did in death.” She smiled to herself, realizing this for the first time and happy to make sense of the situation.
“My name is Ani,” she said awkwardly. “Well, Ani the Lost,” he said, tasting her name on his tongue, “Meet Alex the Lost.” He smiled to sooth her awkwardness and reached out to comfort her. When his finger penetrated her tissue-thin image, his slender finger touched vapor instead of flesh. Since they couldn’t touch, they talked. Ani told him of her fear of flying (although she dreamt of learning to fly), her love of the stars (although she rarely saw them), her debts owed (although none were worth paying), and her regrets (especially that of never finding love). Alex revealed his love of music (although his was too sad to sing), his dreams of becoming a renowned artist (although he said the colors never seemed to be right), and his wish for a friend (although he realized she fulfilled that). They talked for hours of fears and hope, futures and pasts, beliefs and doubts. They passionately discussed Shakespeare and other great literary geniuses, their dislike of computers and e-mail, and the state of Alex’s feet. Their identical eyes mirrored emotions and shown with laughter, for the tears had long departed. Their fears died with the tears, and without realizing it, their dialogue turned to thought. Words were no longer needed.
Light filtered through the window’s panes, and the first rays of dawn were upon them. As their gaze became impenetrable, Ani’s form became softer. Her voice in his mind became a whisper. The silk of her nightgown blended with the light as it shown on his face, the waves kissed his forehead. Her hair floated in the air, the copper turning to gold and then to the white of the sun. When her eyes were all that remained, something changed inside of him. His blood ran like fire, his heart beat faster than ever. The blood in his veins turned strong and rejuvenated, both as deadly and soft as candlelight. He felt alive and fulfilled, realizing he had more than he could have ever dreamt. She no longer regretted never experiencing life, for she experienced everything in one night. Her eyes disappeared, smiling back at him, and he was overcome with a wonderful… calm. His mind was clear of thought, yet more alert than ever. For the first time he noticed the chirping birds outside his window and the ivy on the building’s side (or had it just grown overnight?). He felt the copper in his heart as it spread through his veins. He ran to his guitar and found the right strings. He stared down the canvas and covered the white with strokes of ice and bursts of oak brown, curves of brown and blues of the night.
He found the right colors.
Everyone has a soul mate, although they rarely find each other. But, you see, we don’t need to find them. They are us and we are them. We find each other. We become not stars, not angels, nor reincarnations. There is no death, for we become each other.