The Space Between
The space between holds the dust that smothers the dreams that give toddlers pause and the elderly the giggles. The space between hides the aborted remains of thoughts of grandeur — comfort, fresh milk in the fridge, hot water. In this space between are all the choices I should have made. In there, those choices dance with dead heroes and cancer crippled inhibitions that disease ambition. Deep in the space between, excuses abound, breed and thrive. Eventually, inevitably, they smother, so completely, every single second chance.
I need those. And their offspring.
I’m so lost in the space between.