You bastard.
You come rolling into my life, demanding that I make changes, that I accommodate you. You blithely enter the fire of my principles and perceptions, demanding that I see them as wrong or too tightly held. You insist that you are right, that I am wrong, that there is no other thought. You force your way into my mind, rattling the shelves and drawers, shuffling the papers, rearranging the labels, and then have the audacity to wonder why my brain does not shut off as it tries to make sense of the topsy-turvy mess.
You bastard.
A routine has been set; daily questioning, considering, revamping. With words and actions, a consistent prodding is being done. More fool me, I cannot bring myself to completely deny your self-given permission to challenge me, my perceptions, my scruples. You tease, seduce, debate, laugh, converse, and demonstrate in your effort to loosen the hold, change the mindset, grow a different understanding.
You bastard.
You lost the fight. You won the battle. The war is still going. I know what I believe, what my stance is. Because of you, my reasoning has changed, but only slightly. My understanding, my integrity is upheld. Confusion remains in my mental corners where the contents of my criterion have been tossed, mixed with new experiences and insights. But I am strong. I have not reached this point in my life without questioning what and why I hold these creeds dear. My internal arguments have always been ever-going, unending. You threw in a twist, pushed me out of sync, but did not manage to topple me.
You bastard.
So, why then, do I feel a need to thank you? Because despite the little bombs you threw my way, the impact done was different than what was intended. My resolve was strengthened, my reasoning confirmed and better understood. The arguments, maneuverings, jokes, and sincere statements of persuasion will continue, and we may never come to a true accord, but my commitment to my standard is upheld.
You bloody lovely bastard.
