He was a commercial pilot--caramel skin, neatly cropped hair. He'd spent the better part of the night staring from the opposite side of the room.

*****
"My father's a Gemini," he said.

"Did you ever feel like you really got to know him?"

He looks surprised by the question, surprised like he believes I might already know his life, know his stories.

"No, not really. He passed away a few years ago...but no, I can't say I really got to know him."

"I'm sorry to hear. Gemini's aren't long for this world."

He looks at me, deeply.

"Perhaps there is no one who wants more to be known and understood than a Gemini. That's why we're known for our obsession with communication. But the tragedy is that we are the hardest to be understood. That no matter how deep people dig, no matter how much we try to show, we're never able to fully communicate our deepest truths. Souls trapped in a prism. In a way, that desire and that denial of desire make us inherently tragic characters."

He looks away, searching for an answer in his glass. I can already tell he's in over his head.