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Midst of a Middle

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


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"?

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