It is a part of me
It has always been a part of me, like my shadow, but closer. It is inside me, underneath my skin, somewhere between flesh and bone.
Neither does it hurt, nor is it useful; small numb piece of me, just big enough to be noticed.
I want to throw it away. It is not useful, why should I keep it? I’ve made my mind; I want to get rid of it. That was an easy decision.
I already miss it.
Inside Out
Contemplating, searching and laboring, I learn something about my personality. Just after that moment, I realize my friends have known that for quite a while.
OK!
I say “you are perfectionist.”
She says “I wish I were.”
Even her definition of perfectionism is too perfect.
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