She, Me, We

Every hour on the hour

For months and months

The process repeats

Seventeen minutes of peace, of distraction

Fourteen minutes of pain, of reminders

Thirteen minutes of panic, of heartbreak

Sixteen minutes of recovery, of numbness

A sixty minute roller coaster, ridden over and over and over again

Every hour on the hour

For months and months

Until one day, she just isn’t quite herself

Until one day, she realizes she hasn’t been quite herself

For hours upon hours, months upon months

 

Herself is me and myself is her

 

We are lost

 

She looks in the mirror and sees what looks like us

She opens her mouth and hears what sounds like us

She tells a joke and finds a sense of humor that seems like ours

She knows our past, our present, our future, our values, everything

 

Whenever she needs me, she can find me

 

But when no one’s around, when she is her quiet self, she is a shell

 

A shell that won’t let me in, in spite of all the room

 

She is numb, yet she feels the weight of our emotions pushing against her fragile walls

She is numb, yet she misses me

She is numb, for without numbness she can’t, and with it she can

She is numb, she is numb, she is numb, until she isn’t

 

She is our vessel and our academic, logical mind

 

I am our soul and our emotional, compassionate mind

 

She is broken. I am broken. We are broken.

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