Number 2

Three Dog Night said, "One
is the loneliest number," but two
is shit.
No, the number 2 is actually shit.
It's the reason we all settle for less than we could actually get.
It's the reason we stand behind Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump
and murmur, "Did he really say that?"
while holding signs with his name in big bold letters
with no content on the front and no writing on the back.
It's the reason we come together to find ways to drive ourselves further apart,
why we sit back and watch--no, we buy tickets to and encourage--
the MMA match between our brains and our hearts
because we can follow only one or the other;
All that exists is the one or the other.

Two ... is literally the sophomore slump of numbers.
Imagine you created the perfect pillow,
Not 2 hard, not 2 soft, but ju-uuu-st right for Goldilocks to slumber;
And then somebody said, "But wait, I have this brick from that other fairy tale,"
and he slipped it underneath.
Is he serious? A brick under your pillow? How is this an improvement?
You have no choice but to remove it; the stack is too high; Goldilocks' neck is craning--!
But then you turn around and he's gone.
And so is your pillow.
And you're left sleeping on a brick because ... well, just because there's no third option.

There are 2 sides to every story,
2 sides to every coin.
And with the way we arbitrarily pick sides, we may as well be flipping a coin,
but that's beside the point, and the point is two-fold.
One: there is always only two.
2 sides, 2 opinions, 2 options, 2 interpretations.
Two: they are separated by an immeasurable, untapped chasm of unknown,
a chasm into which, if you venture, you're likely to be perpetually alone,
because it's easy to stand atop cliff 1
and it's easy to stand atop cliff 2
because you can see, you're in the sun,
and when you scream and shout, people below can hear you.
But when you stand on the left and face your enemy on the right,
you see him flying the flag of his differences
and it's clear
you're day-and-night.
And when you stand on the black cliff and face your enemy on the white,
his hideous complexion repels you
and the infinite rainbow in between you two
is perpetually out of your sight.

So I guess if I had to take both points and roll them into one big awkward ball of different-colored Play-Doh that's sort of dried and crumbly and the two pieces don't really stick together ...
Better yet, if I could devise ONE point,
somewhere in between the two,
it would be this:
There are two sides to every story,
But the glory lies somewhere in between.
And if you waste half your life staring at the dirt worrying about your fate,
you'll undoubtedly waste the second half gazing to the clouds and dreaming up false comforts,
and you'll forever be blind to the chasm
that separates the two.