A Perfect Match

I've always really loved things that just fit together in a seemingly perfect way. Just ask my mom when she was digging the bead out of my nose that didn't fit quite as perfectly as I had imagined it fitting. I was just a child then, and my perception of what fits wasn't quite as developed as it is now. This obsession of matching duos is the reason why I make sandwiches to take to school for lunch when I don't really like sandwiches--for the sole purpose of being able to nest it so rightly in my little sandwich container.

I'm also quite convinced that a motorcycle and me would be quite a good match. I'm told I could get this piece of work up and running for only about $700. Honestly, who can refute this? It just fits.

I'm even more convinced that the guy playing the guitar in the very middle is the perfect match for me. I'm pretty sure I could make room for two on that bike for him.

These are all extremely wonderful matches, and they make my soul feel, well, settled, but this next match blows them all away. With this match, I'm not just settled, I'm complete. After 7 years of searching, and after 7 years of disappointment and let down after let down, I've finally found the one. I've finally found a song whose beat goes to the rhythm of the blinker in my car. "You in the barricade listen to this! No one is coming to help you to fight. You're on your own. You have no friends. Give up your guns or die..." If I'm not careful I might get carried away and quote the rest of the musical. I knew there was a reason I feel such a connection toward Les Miserables.

Faces and bathrooms, on the other hand, are not such a fit. I find this highly disturbing.

I don't like the looks of it.