Once upon a time, long long ago, when gods still ruled the world, there were no men and women, simply people. People were both at the same time and therefore completely selfreliant. They were perfect, complete. But the god of all gods, who was acctually a smart god got worried. If people are perfect, complete, they don't need anybody, they are happy with themselves as they are. And that means – oh what a horror – the god thought, they don't need gods. All gods were on the verge of extinction. So the great god put a lot of thought in it and came up with an idea. One day the god split up the poor souls in two halfs and ordered to the wind to take each half of every person as far as it can. People were left devastated, being only a half. They were imperfect, incomplete, lost and in dire need of gods. Their existance eventually shrunk to searching for that other half, gone with the wind. Some found it, but most didn't, though they didn't stop searching, they never lost hope. To be complete, to be perfect, which they could never again be just by themselves.
Still, halves of souls are spread all around the world, searcing for each other, though nowdays people forgot about how it all happened. They tend to bend down to other people's expectations, settle for anything that slightly resembels the possibility of being the other half, they invent gods like they invent new coctails, becoming shadows of people that once were. And the gods are laughing. They would cease to exist if people still believed in other half, out there somewhere. Soul twins that together make a perfection, a complete human being that needs no god. Special kind of love that can conquer religion, the need for it. Some people do, believe in it and eventually find it. Those beople in other people's perspective become crazy or they become legends. While they only live the way we were all supposed to live. Perfect and complete.
When the god of all gods divided people into halves, he was angry, afraid and therefore in the hurry. So the job was done sloppily. But luckily that sloppiness is what still reminds us of the ancient tale and makes us at least wanting to believe in it. It's the little scar we all still have. It's a bellybutton.