There is a being, outside of me and inside of me. Their constant battles colludes my day and thoughts, and often angers me.
The being outside of me is a slim blonde of pixie haircut. Her blue eyes and sharp features has a beak nose and fierce stare. She judges and pokes at the sorrows I feel, mind you, I am not always sorrowful. She is voiceless because I refuse to listen. She tauts a rubber band on her wrist and snaps it to scare me while her budding jealousies of me keeps watch of my relationships and friendships. She loves anger and confusion and seldom does she comment but often would she mock.
Her contests of life and successes judges me and compares me to those who are above the standard of normal. The millionaires, the priviledged, the born rich, the models, the happily married, and the happy mothers. She contorts the normalcy of my day and skews the present into a place of morose opportunities. Her appetite for anguish is a glutton, and I am sick of her.
The being inside of me is losing his hair, and has dark freckles on his face. An endearing smile, often with a nod to me, to show gratitude and comprehension. His golden voice slurs now, but he loves me and repeats what I say. "I love you," he says, and inside my being is a flying dove, over the skies, over the clouds, and up towards heaven. This being knows me, since the day I was born, and will love me till the day I die. He thwarts the outside forces into a presence of peace and calm, as a still river in mid-summer with trout swimming over rocks.
I spend time with the being inside me. Singing to him, with my own golden voice, Amazing Grace how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me. The being inside me loves to hear my voice, and knows that through music, we are saved in mercy.
If only the blonde pixie never existed, and memories of her gone as her criticism disappears.
I love the being inside me more than anything, and spending time with my soul is healing.