The space between everything and nothing. That’s where we’re stuck. Because we are the thudding of our hearts, the colors in our eyes, the languages we speak.
We are the seasons and how they change, drifting from one to another. We are everything from dark to light skin from short to knee-length hair. We are the memories we make. We are beauty and trust. We are everything.
But we are also deeply rooted with nothingness to our cores, because we are questions unanswered. We are the emptiness in the air, the sobs we bare. We are nothing, and I mean it. Because we are lost, confused and we are hurting. We are ants in a farm, machines at work. We are not just one but billions dating back into history. We are not immortal, but we die and fade and disappear and we are certainly not remembered, not the way we want ourselves to be.
We are hanging between everything and nothing. I have no idea who I am. I tend to feel more like nothing though. Is that bad?-H