Taxi Cab I-/

Introductions

I wanna fall inside your ghost

And fill up every hole inside my mind

And I want everyone to know

That I am half a soul divided

He sort of lived in his car. There's something about being boxed in, and moving fast, that doesn't allow the darkness to catch up with you. The headlights scared away his feelings, and sometimes, although he never told anyone, he would turn off his music and cry until the steering wheel was wet. It was a lonely existence for the boy...the boy named Corey. He loved his name. This seems like an insignificant detail about him, but in fact, it was all he believed he was. His name meant "hollow", and that's just what he was.

Most of the time, Corey saw himself from the outside. He longed to feel the sun and air, but instead he was a shell: broken between school and sports, and the driving he did. Cars were his escape, you see. Not fancy cars: he could never afford those. No, he was more in love with the feeling of traveling. Of riding down empty roads at midnight, the moon your only friend. You'd be surprised at how comforting he found the stars.

Corey usually wished he was someone else. He usually wished he could fit into someone else's ghost, like a cookie into a cookie-cutter. If only he could find another body that wouldn't cut his soul at the edges, and squeeze bits of his sadness through his eyes. He didn't quite fit into his mind, and he wondered if finding another self to become would patch up the holes revealing his emotion.

And so, Corey was torn between the boy at school who laughed, and lived, and loved, as opposed to the lonely one that spent most nights on the open road, wondering if the moon understood english.

Forest, on the other hand, was a girl who knew her place. She knew her body: every knick and bruise on its dark skin. She was an abused girl, and that was her place in the world. At least, that is what she believed. She had no time for late night drives and conversations with the moon. No, instead, she found solace in her room most of the time. She could see the road from her window, and the strings of headlights were somehow comforting. She often imagined the people on those roads were going home to their families, where their children would throw their arms around them, and laugh out loud.

It wasn't a busy highway she looked over: just a simple road, the pavement rippled and cracked from years of neglect. Across from her house, on the other side of the cement, the desert stretched long and majestic, broken only by bushes. She spent most nights at her desk, the stars slowly sparkling into existence on the horizon. The distant hum of the occasional car lulled her to sleep, as she ran her fingers over her rock collection.

She had cinnamon colored hair, but she never really noticed how beautiful it was. She had brown eyes with secret streaks of blue, but she rarely looked in the mirror. She was modest. Instead of caring about how she looked, she cared about the soft wind that only came at night, and the gleam of a rain-slicked road in the glow of headlights. She was always looking for someone to fill her up the rest of the way, because where an ocean of a soul should have been, there was a puddle.