There’s a time between seasons where neither one exists. Where winter hasn’t fully passed and spring hasn’t fully sprung.
I am there. In this dangling moment, stuck between a memory and a dream.
Not moving forward and not falling back. Neither telling nor asking. Growing nor dying. I’m not sad or mad or glad. Burning or freezing. Merry or morose. I’m not awake or asleep. Neither settled nor restless. I’m not alone and not together. Not consumed with hatred nor overwhelmed with compassion. Not writing. Not reading. Not shouting. Not whispering. Not marching. Not standing.
Here I am. Stuck between.