I wait in this in between place,

this place that is nowhere.

I wait alone with myself,

with our many selves,

hesitant to commit.

.

Through this mist,

this pervasive sadness that coats my bones,

a lilt of an accent,

bright memories of yesterday –

of dragonflies and of stairways,

we wonder which of us is real,

which of us is to be real.

.

Do I decide?

Is the decision mine

to collapse these infinite possibilities

into a single,

crystalline

reality?

Is the true self decided by fate

by God,

or a foolish boy’s choice?

.

I watch the alternatives crumple

into the hungering fog of impossibility.

.

I stand and wait,

postponing,

in this place of infinite loss.

I cannot reach out,

will not reach out,

for I have lost the desire for direction,

for life or for death.

.

So I stand within this self,

in the midst…