I was flipping through a book while stuck in traffic this evening, and as a preface to chapter 1 was an excerpt of T.S. Eliot's 'The Waste Land.' It has been a while since I've cracked open some poetry, so I read through the poem tonight.
"Who is the third who walks always beside you?
When I count, there are only you and I together
But when I look ahead up the white road
There is always another one walking beside you...
But who is that on the other side of you?"
There is definitely someone on the other side of me - someone who is also unclear to the common eye. And I think that sometimes we trade places so seamlessly that no one notices the slight differences, the subtle nuances. And sometimes when we trade places it becomes difficult to discern who belongs where - who is the real and who is the unreal.