The man on your right shoulder bares his wings widely and calls himself your Gabriel (Him), all ethereal and white, basking in the best efforts of kindness. But he doesn’t take too kindly that I’ve taken up residency on your left, and he cacaws at my impudence at what he calls “chutzpah”. But I’m not sure I care. He breathes venom in your ear unlike any snake I’ve seen, quite willing you to eat the apple, he says I’ve stolen from the tree. Still, it doesn’t matter much.
For we’re still here.
If I was an Eve, much less yours wouldn’t you be an Adam? Thus negating all reason for His presence, still he presses on, determined to fend me off your shoulders and into the dumpster. I’ve seen this dumpster. It’s dusty and dark, filled with murky substances that were once imaginative sprites, and now just pieces of old chalked up cardboard.
I tried once, to pluck the long feathers emblazoned on his wings, but he snapped and called me foolish.
Have you ever just felt like smiling?
I have. For no reason at all; it’s a pleasant thing far more pleasant that the one-sided bickering my ears are now prone to. I’m just lucky you only hear Him through concealed reconsideration. But you hear me, I know you do, we sigh together and that’s pleasant (too). I think the innocence is on Him. We are too world wise. For we have been world wise together for such a long time. And Death that’s just an illusion, for I met him last week through your eyes-- he speaks in all caps. Just to me he replied, HELLO. I don’t think you heard him clearly. For I’m not really dead am I, if you are still passionate in me? That would be paradoxical. We were one years before that man on your shoulder showed his face. We were one in thought long before we rowed into the oncoming barrage of seamonkey critics. If there is one thing on which we agree, Gabriel and me, it’s that we are here because of you.
There are no Gods darling only thoughts and wishes.
So keep me alive and think of me.