Everyone knows that there are lots of fish in the sea. Some fish travel in schools and enjoy the security of being identical to their underwater neighbors. I always preferred the beta fish, however; colorful and unique, the beta fish swims alone and exudes individuality. Just like the beta fish that attacks any gilled creature that resembles his reflection, Carbon Copy and I were doomed from the start. The pond simply was not big enough for the both of us.
When I first saw him in the bookstore on an ordinary Monday afternoon, I wrote the lad off as a flirtatious stranger. At first I believed to be experiencing my first case of déjà vu. The man appeared eerily familiar yet I could not place him. After three hours of perusing the travel books together he casually mentioned that he was an INFJ (a personality type from the Myers-Brigg Type Indicator). I looked at him in disbelief. Not only was he knowledgeable about psychology (my college major) but we shared the rarest personality type in the bunch. It seemed our similarities were more abundant than the novels in the bookstore. Read: Is Dating Harder For Smart People?
Weeks passed and I discovered we shared southern roots, astrological signs (both fiery Sagittarians), a sarcastic sense of humor, and a love of Pink clothing. We also both enjoyed singing randomly in public, reading for hours, dark chocolate, and even Lady Gaga's eccentricity. Essentially I was now involved with my long lost twin, affectionately dubbed my Carbon Copy.
"Why am I so attracted to you?" he would ask from time to time.
"Because you and I are exactly the same. You really just want to date yourself," I would tease.
But after a few months the joke no longer seemed funny.
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