Inside there is us, She and I, and we exist in pages and selective imaginations. We are as real as the memories of your lost loved ones and have as much of a future as your dreams. From Her’s command our lives are shaped. I once had green eyes. Later they were brown, “to be more realistic.” Now my eyes lack a description amongst the words. Her says this is supposed to make it easier for You to identify with I.
She and I had names. They began and ended with the same letters in the Roman alphabet. But as soon as we were read aloud it was apparent that our names sounded too similar. Her thought this would be confusing to You. So our names were changed to ones that sounded “more pleasing to the ear.” Weeks later, Her looked up the meanings of our then-names and said, “Oh, no, no, no.” Many new names followed, all of which possessed meanings that “mattered”. Not a single one, however, were able to expand the breadth of ourselves. Now we are only known as She and I.
She was happy being She. I was uncertain with I. The name is so slim – I feared I would be easily overlooked. But Her was insistent that I, as I, would evoke greater empathy in You. “Because that is who you are,” Her said.
I remain unconvinced. For if I am I, then I cannot be You.
Read the whole story at Kalahari Review