magnets

What if there were magnets in everyone's hearts. And if you got too near your soul mate, or they got too near you, or you got too near one another, you'd fly right into each other's arms. Picture New York City. No, picture New York City on Valentine's Day. There would be more people zooming around the crowded streets than taxicabs. And everyone would be smiling. Even the people who weren't fortunate enough to find their soul mates on that particular day, for they would see the promise and the hope, the promise and the hope literally flying around them. They would feel it rushing past them--the tornado of newly united lovers--in the whirl of a young woman's skirt, in the whip of a businessman's tie. And imagine the moisture in the air, of coffee and cappuccinos and mocha lattes, milk and chocolate and vanilla all thrown carelessly up toward the sky, for the jolt from the magnetic heartstrings doesn't allow time to set things down. Imagine that. How wonderful. For those who are lucky enough to have already found their soul mates, they would look upon this wild scene, nod their wise heads, and smile. They remember what it felt like to defy gravity, to fly over the bewildered heads of the cynical and the hopeless, and land safely and gently, into the arms of a familiar stranger. And they remember knowing, without the shadow of a doubt or the luxury of memory, that this person was going to be significant.