act i

They're both the same and different all at once. A living, breathing oxymoron, full of complications and contradictions. They'll never be the same but they'll always be together.

No escape?

None at all.

They're pieces from the same puzzle; they wouldn't be complete if the two didn't have each other whether they know it or not. That's what made the whole thing work out in the first place you know: unaware coexistence. Neither knew the other existed, was even able to exist but they got along just fine.

Then the hero fell (for a few minutes anyway) and he got split in two. It's not like he noticed either way. Even when they were finally pulled apart by stolen hearts and wishes (not) to be the hero, they still have that little connection of dreams and half thought-out notions.

No matter what, it's annoying as hell but they can't do anything about it, seeing as ones asleep (for good?) and his other's unaware.

act ii

They have the same hair, in a way. Spiky and eternally reminiscent of balls of (positive or negative?) energy waiting to be unleashed. While one's a mess of chocolate, the other is an organized chaos that belongs on the beach in the sun somewhere.

Twin orbs of blue (not azure or cobalt or even cerulean- just pure blue) stare out at the world but the inner things they hide are worlds away from each other. One is full of sunny skies and playful oceans (his hair is better suited to hooded jackets and city coffee shops though). The other veils a storm, hidden out of sight but present never the less.

The innocent look that fits so well on the hero can't be pulled off. In that storm quiet confusion and hidden resentment are more at home. That is, if there was anything to create such feelings in the first place.

No matter how many times people told him, he still hadn't been quite sure (of what?).

act iii

Because of course, even though he had the right to be confused, and was even encouraged to take a bitter outlook on the world and his (non)existence, it wasn't supposed to be possible in the first place. There wasn't supposed to be a heart able to conjure up such strong feelings at all.

And all these "feelings" kept building up; what's and who's and why, why, whys. Why is his head filled with such confusing notions of friendship and justice and the need to save the day?

Real?

Or not?

Not likely at all. Until finally the blue-eyed, blond zombie had enough and he snapped at whoever lay in his path at the time.

act iv

All those (could be) feelings came pouring out in a violent rush, letting the storm in his eyes invade his head and overtake the heart he might or might not have.

For once the zombie spoke his mind until the tempest that had whipped itself up faded to sunny skies again.