Wherever you go, two out of three discussions are about halves. Cause that’s how we know: to live with halves. Measures. To pretend to live until the half appears. I expect one of these discussions to take shape one day. To turn my head on the street and see half-dissected people walking only with their left or right side, jumping on one leg, with parts of their organs hanging like in a stupid horror movie and trying to stick together here and there, where the organs will fit.
From time to time, a “lucky” man, with half a man face and half a woman, with a woman’s breast leaving a nipple visible through the white T-shirt and a testicle crammed on the opposite side in his trousers, walking on two legs: with a heeled shoe on the left and a sneaker on the right, stirring envy and at the same time giving hope to the halves without half.
I still call it ½, but ½ is equal to 0.5 only in mathematics. Whether it suits you or not, you are first and foremost 1/1, and it would be good to learn to be happy like this and start behaving as such, not as a poor 0.5 trying to be completed by another at any cost. Usually too high.
