Why do Chopsticks have to be seperated?

Life and death is the most basic fundamental principle of life. As we breathe in we breathe out, as we raise our left leg we swing our left arm back. As ones action is played, the other is affected by it. This is the principle of life. The two very contrasting yet comparable subject of life and death raised a question to me, why do chopsticks have to be separated?
Just like life and death, leaving ones you love and hold on so dearly onto is a very atrocious thing. I wondered as I reached down to grab one of these fellows, “Are they in love?” When you think about it, they are logically inseparable. They cuddle in a slim paper cover for who knows how long, and they don’t come off each other very easily. It resembled me of my old girlfriend and I, we “were” inseparable. Then that magical hand came along and separated us apart. Then as I looked down in my hand, there were those fragmented memories of mine. Cuddling like there is no tomorrow. I started to tear up a little and was stuck in a dilemma. What was I to do; I couldn’t possibly rip the chopsticks apart. Then on the other hand, I saw my noodles getting colder by the minute I spent in that dilemma. So I decided, I dipped the chopstick into the bowl, and stirred it. I lifted the noodles up with my chopsticks, and I raised them toward my mouth. It was so close; I could feel the steam rising up my nose. But then it slid away. It slid away like those dreams I had the night before my final exam. One by one, those slick white noodles slid away. Was it too much to eat it without actually separating the chopsticks? I looked at the noodles then I looked at the chopsticks. My stomach started to send out signals. Those signals then steamed through my nervous system and triggered my brain which enhanced my motion to bring my other hand toward the chopstick. Was this the end of the couple? As I drowned myself in morose, the tip of my elbow ticked the noodle bowl. In an instance, the bowl spun 360 degrees and splattered all over my floor. In a mixture of shock and relief, I looked back at those damned chopsticks. I picked up the remaining of the noodles and tossed them into the garbage can. Then I looked at the chopstick again and with mixed feeling of frustration and liberation I chucked it into the garbage can where inedible noodles lied. From that day on, there was a shiny stainless steel fork lying on my desk, ready to serve.