― perfecticity

- 1 -

I first met Dream in the supermarket.

The first thing I noticed about him was his twitchy behavior. He seemed on edge and for what I wasn't sure. It was the way his fingers barely brushed over the jar of olives inches in front of his nose, like he was scared it would attack him. It was the way his nose scrunched up in a funny way as he read the label, like it had insulted him. I hate olives, so I think it's possible they did insult him.

I always notice the small things first. I'm always called a dreamer, with my head up in the clouds. I'm far more observant than I should be, and I notice the fine details that end up earning me a weird look. Noticing the small things doesn't make for a good first impression, because they get convinced I was staring at them.

The next thing I noticed about him was the way his hair was perfectly messy. I liked it, which was a surprise, because I don't believe in perfection and I don't like clutter. But I let his hair slide, because it was pretty.

I know I startled him, which was a shock to me. It's not like I crept up on him. What exactly did he suspect, standing in the middle of the isle? He was blocking the mismatched pasta brands, and my mother needed them. My footsteps were far from loud but not quiet either. He acted like he had seen a ghost.

He spun around to face me, and I watched his face contort from fear, to shock, to confusion, and back again, before it rested on neutral. I'm used to these kinds of looks, but I hadn't even done anything yet.

I decided I didn't like his hair anymore just because of that.

People just seem to smell my vibe. They don't know me as the overthinker, rather as the outcast. They don't need to talk to me to know that. But I would rather be the outcast than the popular kid.

I always welcome silence as opposed to noise, but with this boy standing in front of me without a word, I felt a flare of annoyance. He seemed to pick up on that, and stepped to the side.

A groan of frustration was pushed down my throat as I realized another failed socialization was inbound. We would not interact, and never become more than missed strangers with a broken opportunity.

I think about fate a lot, because it is clear the role it plays in our lives. But then I get to thinking why exactly what happened happened when it did, and then I get confused and listen to music.

You see, we live in a word where our soulmates are assigned at birth. The moment you are born with a beating pulse, your name is entered into a worldwide database and you are assigned one single person who is known as your soulmate. How this is calculated is beyond me, but no one has ever hated their soulmate, so I believe in the system.

Of course, the computer can't control your lives, which gets me to thinking about fate yet again. How does one meet their soulmate without divine intervention? Or maybe our whole lives are simply a pawn on a chess board?

I'm unaware that Mr. Olive Jar With The Scrunched Nose is staring at me until now, and I blink at him. We have nothing to say to each other, but yet he seems enthralled.

The way you truly know you found your soulmate is by getting your certificate. You cannot receive it until you turn 16, which I have, but haven't felt bothered to get it yet. There, the description and the name of your soulmate is there. If you go back for an updated copy, more things start to get added- such as favorite color, location, and even their family. It's like the system wants you to find them.

"Excuse me?"

Once again I find myself dizzy and lost, grasping for a hold on sanity. It's a side effect of my day dreaming, sometimes I totally zone out. He bubbles in and out of view, and the once slacked features of his face become worried. I remember where I am and focus my eyes, and attempt to smile back at him convincingly. "Yes?"