A Forever Tension

Between Me and Her. A long imagining tethered to a well-known state. I carry Me around the same way I always have. Her weight feels easy in my core, I follow her lead and know her voice.

But then there’s Her, who I imagine I must become. The Me I see in my future state. I’ve held her picture in my heart, planning and willing, yet her arrival feels delayed.

Which one is real? Which one should be realized? These are the questions I ask in silence, at stoplights. Am I Her? Do I know the real Me? Or has She been covered in layers of paint—a rush of plaster and color—just to feel real from the outside first? She lives in a world that only sees what’s there, but Me knows better. Plaster breaks. Color is a wave.

Sometimes I think the ghost of Her is all I get. A self never known, wrapped up in shoulds, is haunting me.