In Between

Times have come and times have passed, I am in between conquests and have stopped reeling. That limbo they call being single, swarms around my head like a cloud of gnats, a prickling reality, uncertainty. I point my finger at myself as I write my feelings, showing my age it shakes in its aura of precognised disappointment. Those times between settling down, tearing away love and memories, clumsily patched like a farmers tyre, necessary pain, experience. I control an inhalation and let it out deep and unshaken, a testimony to moving on in admission that my eyes are now dry. New lines on my face and in my mind, Lines to cross, lines to read between, Lines to stay far behind, until swept over them again, unchanged.