PART I: "Love is simply the name for the desire and pursuit of the whole" Plato, the symposium.

The Anciant Greeks believed humans once had four arms, four legs and a single head made of two faces.

We were happy. Complete.

So complete that the gods, fearing our wholeness would quell our need for worship, cleaved us in two, leaving our split selves to wander the Earth in misery. 

Forever longing. Longing. Longing... For the other half of our soul.

It is said that when one half found its other there's an unspoken undestanding. A unity. And each would kmow no greater joy than this.

Of course the ancient greeks never went to high-school, or they'd realised we don't need the gods to mess things up for us.

A train passing through the station cut her attention from continue writing her eassy, as she remembered she was going to be late for school if she didn't start to get ready like, right now.

Quickly, she sped up out of her hiding place and up through the stairs of her house, putting whatever sweatshirt she found clean at her bedroom. She hadn't expected to doze off after helping at the train station, like she did every single day. But she guessed she was more tired that day than others, probably from having to write so many essays for her classmates yesterday.

Don't get her wrong, it wasn't like they bullied her to write them, more that she write them for money. But it was still tiring to write so many different essays for the same subject. However, it was challenging for someone who liked to write as much as her, so she ended up creating this kind of business where everybody won.

Or at least, where she could win some extra money. For what, that she didn't really know.

She looked for the other half of her sock under her bed, having spot it just and the end. She stretched trying to reach it, and when she finally did, she saw how little time she had left to print all the essays she had written.

She reached for her laptop, finishing the essay she had left behind before:

If you asked me, people spent far too much time looking for  someone to complete them. After all, how many people found perfect love? Or if they did... make it last? More evidence of Camus' theory that life is irrational and meaningless.

Sighing in content, she ended it there as she was pretty proud of what she had written. That was some A-plus love pilosophy right there, or A-minus, if Mrs. G, her teacher, was in a bad mood. Either way, it's an A or you didn't have to pay.

She print all of the essays, crossing out on her notebook the names of the people she had written them from. Then, she put them in individual envelopes, so she didn't mix them up.

She stored all of them in her backpack and headed downstairs, ready to go out.

At her living room, she saw how her father was sleeping once again at the armchair, and she couldn't help but raised his blanket a little so he wouldn't get cold later on.

Lastly, she went to the board were she wrote down the things she shouldn't miss before going out of her house, like every morning. Crossing them out, she remembered she hadn't done the laundry, and that she would need to do it when she came back from school. But, despite that, everything else was pretty much in order.

Putting on her helmet, she went down to her bike, and before she knew it, sh