The Imp and the Giant

Each of us contains an imp and a giant. 

The imp bickers,
holds grudges,
turns up its nose,
never leaves a tip,
coughs without covering its mouth,
lies about liking your shirt,
and wonders aloud why nobody listens to it.

The giant can tickle rain out of the clouds.
It is very quiet, but it never avoids your gaze.
It can hug you so hard the pain leaks out like tree sap. 
It likes to hum, and if you listen closely, every once in a while
it'll whistle. 

Each night, they come together and link entrails
through the doors in their bellies. 
One grows, the other shrinks. 

The next morning, each of us contains an imp and a giant
of roughly the same proportion as before.