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I looked at the masquerade unfold before me. They all had masks, masks covering the truth and the fears. I watched, and I watched with him, as the models dipped and bowed, and pranced around like ponies for the show. I should tell her. She has no idea. She has no idea that her childlike fears are so irrelevant.
“They're perfect for each other,” he told me as we sat side by side on the white bench; our fingers were intertwined. We knew the truth behind it all.
“Should we tell them?” he asked. I shook my head. We weren’t allowed to interact at all. All we could do was watch over, hope that they figure it out on their own.
“How can we be together if they’re not together?” he looked at me and squeezed my hand. His dark eyes looked into mine, as we knew the separation was inevitable.
“We just have to wait until their older,” I whispered, “until they’ll really understand.”
“When will that be? A month? A year? Five years?” He groaned as he stood up and ran his fingers through his shaggy dark hair.
“I just can’t…” he stumbled to pick the right words. Our eyes locked and I felt the dark tears flowing down. I sprung up and embraced him.
“I’m sorry, but we’ll meet again one day.” I kissed his cheek, “But you know the rules.”
He rugged his hand along my cheek and brushed a simple tear away.
“If only some rules could be broken.” He leaned in and kissed his dark lips to mine. They were bittersweet since we both knew this would be the last kiss for a while. As I pulled myself away from him I felt the tears fall down my face.
“Goodbye,” I whispered. I turned quickly and started to walk toward my twin, my owner, my poor reflection. “Goodbye,” I heard him whisper back.
Then I closed my eyes and ran toward my owner. She was dressed in a dark teal dress that flew up every time she spun around. She was so young, so unaware of everything.
“Juliet!” Lady Capulet called. I ran with 5-year-old Juliet as we both embraced her mother, my mother. Labels never are certain in reality.
Lady Capulet pulled us into her arms and started carrying us to bed. I turned my head around for one last second to glimpse the tiny boy. He was ten and dressed in purple robes.
“Romeo oh Romeo,” I called as his shadow turned to me. Our eyes locked for the last time. If only shadows could speak. If only shadows could warn them.