Square Peg ♡ Round Hole

Square Peg had been on edge.

In a world of contours and nuance, of free-flowing forms, he saw himself as — a misfit.

Surrounded by ebullient personalities, of nebulous shapes and sizes, he was — an outsider.

He felt cornered.

There was that persistent pressure, pounding his every square inch.

He was afraid that he might crack, buckle and implode.

Round Hole had been feeling empty.

She wasn’t sure how long, but the gaping void inside of her had grown larger over time.

The emptiness in the pit of her stomach was expanding, pushing her to her limits.

The emptiness seemed to define her.

She was afraid that she might burst at the seams any minute, pop and disappear.

They had never noticed each other before.

Then, one day, heading in opposite directions, they nearly bumped into one another.

“You’re blocking my view!” she yelled.

“You’re eclipsing my field of vision!” he yelled back.

He leaned on a right angle, and stared squarely at her.

She rolled to a complete stop, and stared roundly back at him.

“Oddball!” she teased him, and smiled.

“Blockhead!” he needled her, and smiled.

They both smiled.

He felt the pressure that had been bearing down on him taper off.

Then, it was no more.

She felt the emptiness that had been consuming her from inside shrivel up.

Then, it was no more.

Editor of No Crime in Rhymin' and Language Lab | the Woke Bloke ..."come for the sarcasm, stay for my soft side"

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