In Between

There’s a conveyor belt–slow moving. And You, you have your feet glued to it, letting it carry you–never walking yourself.

In between–you and I; space grows like weeds and we spread further and further apart.

In between:  I rise and fall a hundred times…hopeful one day; devasted the next; courageous one day; a gooey puddle of muck the next.

I cup my hands around my lips and scream my yearnings to you: pleas of desperation, in between sleepless nights and sugar binges, on my knees, I ask

And you–you glide by, feet glued to that conveyor belt



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