Creative and critical: two sides you always have, opposite views you always carry. The burden of each side shifts in time. Then one day you’ll show up one-sided, you’ll silently turn into a soul you hate.

Creative: The ray of light, too skinny to be grabbed by Earth, is flying through air.
Critical: Sure, blame it on gravity.
Creative: Musty smell of wood furniture, wounded by the corpulent corrosion of the clock’s arrow rotating so smoothly, bleeds in my room.
Critical: You are a wounded furniture too.
Creative: The light bounces back between my face and the mirror, touches my retina, lands on the memory bed and awakes the young woman I once was.
Critical: I suppose the same young woman who bought this furniture many centuries ago.
Creative: Once upon a time, the face was smooth and vibrant. The lips were light and voluptuous taking a bite out of life with every single breath.
Critical: Today they are crispy, and close a mouth too tired to gasp for air.
Creative: Once upon a time, the hair was red and thick.
Critical: Today it is the snow in the winter, too much for a small head.

One day you’ll show up one-sided, you’ll silently turn into a soul you hate.