Keys, why do we have such a love-hate relationship?
I admit that I am fickle with you. I put you down, and then I loose you. I forget where you rest. I even have a special spot just for you, but something in me resists my own attempts to keep you safe.
This resistance must be traces of my little-girl self, the one who does not want to follow the rules. She is still finding her way. She doesn’t have everything figured out yet.
“Don’t corral yourself,” my heart tells her. “Let me be your guide to finding your true self. There will be bumps along the road, but there will be lots of adventure.”
“Just do as you’re told,” my mind says to her. “I can guide you down a clear path, a straight path, one that is predictable and safe.”
Why do you, Keys, suffer the consequences? Half the time, I find you in your special bowl. The rest of time, I find you where I look last – by the bathroom sink, or on the edge of the bed, or in the silverware drawer, or fill-in-the-blank.
Logic. Emotion. Mind. Heart. Why do my two selves repeatedly battle with each other so much over something as mundane as you, Keys? I hear my little-girl self laugh and cry each time I find you in my hand. I am not sure who wins the battle. You or me? Mind or heart?
I admit that I am fickle with you. I put you down, and then I loose you. I forget where you rest. I even have a special spot just for you, but something in me resists my own attempts to keep you safe.
This resistance must be traces of my little-girl self, the one who does not want to follow the rules. She is still finding her way. She doesn’t have everything figured out yet.
“Don’t corral yourself,” my heart tells her. “Let me be your guide to finding your true self. There will be bumps along the road, but there will be lots of adventure.”
“Just do as you’re told,” my mind says to her. “I can guide you down a clear path, a straight path, one that is predictable and safe.”
Why do you, Keys, suffer the consequences? Half the time, I find you in your special bowl. The rest of time, I find you where I look last – by the bathroom sink, or on the edge of the bed, or in the silverware drawer, or fill-in-the-blank.
Logic. Emotion. Mind. Heart. Why do my two selves repeatedly battle with each other so much over something as mundane as you, Keys? I hear my little-girl self laugh and cry each time I find you in my hand. I am not sure who wins the battle. You or me? Mind or heart?
