I Am A Book

I am a book. But this book has a front cover that is different from the back. And inside, half of the pages say exactly what you’d expect, while the other half breaks all assumptions. Contradictory statements greet the reader and war with equal strength. One area shouts height and the next sings its lows. One chapter feels the contentment of life while an earlier draft reveals nothing but an anxious aura of restlessness.  High standards and self-worth struggle with conflicting facets of low expectations and self-doubt. Each word stands independently, but together, thousands create the complex interaction of a personality bound by inexplicable thoughts and well-defined contemplations. Deliberate labels and fuzzy definitions. Or is it clear definitions and ambiguous labels? No matter, coherence is fleeting. There will always be one page of glory and another of sorrow. One of hope and one of regret. One confounding in its complete opposition to the previous. But whatever fills the pages, it’s still a hardcover (or maybe a paperback), with each page tightly connected to the spine, forming one book, and that book is me.