Linger

I want to want what I have in my hands. Or the possibility – which is where I have always gotten lost. This is the sharp left turn that leads me to nowhere, for all things are at their best before they happen into existence.

How beautiful our expectations look in the dark. How shameful we feel when they emerge in the light of actuality. I prefer to remain in an in-between  world, one of shadows, a grayness. A passage where possibility lives in limbo, the sliver of space in the middle of what is and what could have been. I’ll choose not to walk through, lingering as the patterns in my eyes dance in the doorway.

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