Line Starts Here

A line can represent every frog in the puddle. Every line starts at some place and is headed to another. When looking at the collective of lines, you get a picture similar to the underground or metro.
Some lines that originated from very different places ended up in similar directions, and some that started out near each other find themselves worlds apart.

Some of these lines meet, if only for a few stops. This is what makes life interesting. One day you are swimming along by yourself, and the next you are running parallel to another line. You spend a few stops together, and then move on. Whether you ever meet again is up to fate (i.e. the engineer who planned the subway system).

These interactions can be fascinating. You find that you and the other line have so much is common, you share experiences from the track, but suddenly all this comes to an end and your ways part. It’s bound to happen because what’s the point in having two lines follow the same route?

The lines rarely realize the pattern they are stuck in. They continue to run, collide and separate from each other, never questioning. They look forward to the place where they meet a good friendly line, and later feel the pain of their inevitable separation. From within this pain, they hope to never see that line again. The contrast between the good and bad stops is unbearable. They almost wish to divert their tracks to avoid this line in the future. But before they can do that, they collide again and the pain of separation is forgotten in the midst of joy.

There is one line that is currently struggling with such issues. This line squiggles itself into letters to express itself, and does so most often when it is separated from a particular line. The words of anger mix in with words of longing, and this line finds itself very confused. These two lines came from opposite sides of town, and are increasingly heading towards locations miles apart. Yet those few stops they share are beautiful. The line’s happiness peaks, and it cannot understand its previous anger towards the other line. It delves into the moment, later hating itself for falling victim to the pattern again.