I don't really know if it's in my head. Sometimes it feels like sharing my body with another soul. Except when I look for her, she's never really there. She always comes when I'm feeling like something is wrong - maybe she is my melancholy.
The ghost of me.
She's in there, somewhere, hiding in the dark corners until the time comes when I need to cry. She brings with her all the thoughts, the dreams, the wishes I have ever had that have never come true, showing me all I ever wanted and all I'll never have. It might seem cruel, but it's part of me. The person I wish I could be, hidden away inside my mind, the safest place away from the world.
She helps me see things the way I never would have, when she looks through my eyes, despite my blindness I see the world with every detail, anything that tries to hide is revealed. She provides the oxygen to ignite the tiny spark of inspiration somewhere in there.
A ghost, a muse, the other side of a split personality. I don't know what she is, but she's there.