There’s another self inside yourself. Another you
Like the core of a fruit
The flesh of the fruit is plump, juicy, sweet, filling,
refreshing
The core is hard, coarse, inedible. A stone to be thrown
away
and discarded. A seemingly dead thing, with a perfect tree inside
it.
But the bitter stone is as much the fruit, as the sweet, nourishing
flesh
It is the soul
The base
The beginning
The root
Without it there is no sweetness, or juice
There is no fruit
There is no flesh
