It’s not that I don’t believe you.
Every word you utter
Takes its own curious shape
In the form of air
Bent many times over
Resonating
In a way that is only yours.
It travels
Across apparently nothing
To reach me.
But in the 3 inches
between my ear
And my brain;
It enters cautiously.
As though a long lost friend,
Knocking hesitantly on my door.
Unsure of their stature.
Or maybe a thief,
With bated breath.
No one listens better than a thief,
For their sustenance is
On their ability to
Make of sound:
A dimension in
Time, distance and chance.
But why would you take calm breaths
To render mine irregular?
And now,
The sound is melodic.
But just a little off key,
As though you were testing an instrument
That had slacked off,
Unplayed for long.
It’s not that I don’t believe you.
For our eyes meet,
In the familiar gaze
Of familiars.
Yours are blacker,
Maybe that’s why they seem wider
And pupils dilated.
Framed against white,
Black often seems more novel
Than sinister.
Why would vision not deflect in the face
Of intentional deflection?
And now,
The eyes seem coherent,
Just a tad separated from one another.
Like identical twins,
With the slightest deviation in nose curvatures.
They could be mirror images,
And then, mirrors only reflect another.
It’s not that I believe you.
It’s that I don’t disbelieve you enough
To do anything about it.
Like turning on the fan
On a medium-hot night.
Inertia takes precedence over decision.
But the sleep remains disturbed,
And ear and mind active.
I’m in the midst
Of a middle,
And I don’t want to move to the end.
Image: Interestingly enough, this image is from an article from Google Insights on the "messy middle " of purchase journeys. As always, the divide between core human behavior is almost non-existent across all decision making, emotional or rational. And the middle is where they're most vulnerable to change whether with information or mere words.
The dimension of time ensures that the past is out of reach except in echoes, and so are beginnings that have already begun. But the only element of potential change is the continual choice between the solid static of forever or the malleable movement towards the end. Yet, in the middle, doesn't everything take on dual dimensions: every word you say has two meanings, every breath you take two directions. And it is infuriatingly impossible to determine when a middle is closer to an end and when to an infinite existence. Everything seems to go both ways like you were wearing pants and you'd have to don both the legs to be able to walk in them. There's no choice, there's just the reality of both legs.
When you're in the midst of things, do you know if you're leaning towards the eternal or the end? and if you knew, for sure, wouldn't that mean you're above the construct of "the middle"?