You and Me and We and I

You and Me and We and I are unpredictable.

You is mostly caring but can be combative at times.

Me is closely followed by -lancholy but when Me is alone, Peace can usually be found.

When You and Me are together, Peace will stick around. But it can still feel like something is missing.

We is happiest. No one can really deny. But We can be very tumultuous.

I is completely different with Love, but alone, I only confides in Misery.

You and Me can turn into We, but they don’t really decide when that will be.

There is speculation it happens the less time they spend with I.

I is quite the smooth talker and incredibly possessive.

I speaks unfavorably of We, although We never does of I.

You and Me often don’t know who to believe.

And even when they think they believe We, they say to themselves, “I bet I could be a better We.”

I tends to sneak back in.

I lingers for fear of being forgotten, of becoming a memory like the Is past.

I wasn’t always so different from You and Me. I once tried to become We.

You and Me risk it all when they try to become We. I took that same risk without realizing I has to become You and Me before it can become We.

Angry, Alone, and Afraid were the first to come when I failed to become We. I wouldn’t listen to You or Me, and soon found solace in Misery.

You and Me and We and I are unpredictable. But they are also, undoubtedly familiar.


The Other Woman

I don’t like being alone or not having plans because the other woman invites herself over.

She invades my place and makes herself right at home, like a roommate you’ve come to hate but can’t kick out.

There were times long ago when she would be nice, even if it was backhanded. But lately she’s been mean.

I don’t like it when I don’t have anything to listen to or read or talk about. The other woman is one of those people who needs to fill the silence.

She can always read me so well.

She says the meanest things. And what impresses me the most about her is the way she always asks questions that make you feel like your chest is being crushed.

Why would anyone love you forever? I mean after they really got to know you.

What are you so proud of? Anyone could have done that and probably better.

Don’t you think you would have the thing you want by now if you really deserved it? You’re just not good enough.

She is relentless. She is cold.

I try to reason with her but that usually ends up with one of us in tears. Mostly me.

The other woman knows me better than anyone I know or have ever known. And I know her better than anyone, because I used to be her.

She is not my shadow. She is not an evil clone.

She is a scared and very lonely, little girl who is too lost and too disillusioned to remember what hope is.

The other woman isn’t a nightmare. She doesn’t only appear in the dark.

She appears in the emptiness. She appears where there is nothing. Whatever appears there after her is chased away, twisted into something empty or simply destroyed.

I think she would retire or maybe find her own place if there weren’t anything for her to wrap herself around.

But how do you chase away a woman who can turn your weapons against you? A woman who can take joy and mold it into a garbage that produces such a foul stench your mind refuses to believe it was ever anything else?

Did I mention she’s a liar? And she paints, too.

She paints these elaborate, huge works of art that eat up empty space. Paintings that could make a person feel like they’re drowning.

The other woman is careful. And sometimes I think she has a plan for me. Because she never stays longer than a few days.

So for now, I guess I’ll try to be a good host and politely ignore my unwanted guest and rejoice in the fact that she has not introduced me to her brother.

I hear he’s the worst house guest, even though he only ever visit once.