It’s only Me and I.
In sweet, soft stillness in velvet, tender darkness we meet, caressing each other’s skin with gentle, timid strokes full of insecurities.
Where are you?, asks the Me the I, but the I doesn’t know the answer.
What are you?, asks the I the Me, but the Me doesn’t understand.
How are you?, do they both ask each other but non knows what they feel.
They circle each other with curiosity, sensing, smelling, seeing subtle layers of the other, gazing at bits and pieces behind old and new faces of illusional self perception.
What do you see?, asks the Me the I. I see hidden beauty on fertile soil, ready to bloom once the shadows fade.
What do you smell?, asks the I the Me. I smell a subtle odor of loving presence, coating and covering violence and harm you’ve done to yourself.
What do you sense?, do they ask each other. I sense sharp splinters from a mirror of twisted reflections stuck in fragile bones under layers of soft flesh perfused by empty veins. I sense deep roots of hatred, reaching deep into an ocean of crystallized racism against the very bottom of a true self, feeding lively seeds with toxic essence. I sense violent words, spoken out loud into the empty space between midnight and dawn to suffocate the eerie melody of self-love.
Where are you?, asks the Me the I. Right here, holding your hand.
What are you?, asks the I the Me. Nothing more or less than you.
How are you?, do they ask each other.
Grateful, do they finally answer into the ever-expanding space of stillness, grateful for finding you at the very least, full of hope and full of fear I am, where the familiar oily coat of sticky doubts cracks open, breaks to unveil cascades of bright facets reflecting a future full of trust with no Me, and no I, but just us.