The air is thick and tastes like chalk. It’s silent. There’s a slight breeze blowing bread crumbs across the floor like a tumbleweed in the Arizona desert. Except we’re in ambiguously cold London.

A strong light shines into my eyes. 

I can’t get out of your box. I’m flapping and sweaty and my head is pounding.

I can’t fathom a world without you though. I love the frustration and anger you bring into my life. I wouldn’t have a purpose. 

You define me. 

You’re cold nonchalant attitude makes me want to do more, and less at the same time. You put up walls and ladders and make me do things I probably would have never done before. 

I get you. 

You are easy to understand, you have a defined process that I can follow. I know I have to jump through this hoop to get to through the next. There are no surprises which makes me feel safe. 

You fill my day with busy thoughts and sometimes challenging ideas that make me want to get up every morning to be with you. 

But this is also why I hate you. 

You don’t challenge me to be me. You would rather me be like everyone else, become the sheep that obeys your every command. If I fall out of line I am slapped on the wrist. 

I feel a heavy weight pushing me down until I am flat, with no personality. A blank face staring at me, which I soon realise as my own. 

You’re eyes are a deep grey that hypnotise me into thinking I am happy. 

And I don’t think you have a soul. I don’t feel the lively energy that my son emits. Warm, smiling, and blue. 

Why do I have to try so hard with you? Shouldn’t this be easy? 

We sit together in a dim lit meeting room as the sun slowly strikes another day. The light passes us by once again without even noticing. 

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