The left of my brain, omnipresent, churns in the background, planning to acquire real estate, shaking hands with all my synapses, as a snake, propagating the message, “don’t ask for too much.”

The whole of my heart, hope-trained, stands in the line of fire, clad in silvery full armor, bravely readying my skin, deflecting endless barbs of propaganda, imparting the beautiful truth, “I am her too much.”