Sometimes, I think it would be very peaceful to live in between.
In between cups of lukewarm tea in paint-chipped mugs. In between black and white photographs, between winter nights and wine-soaked summer suppers. In between organic cafes and trips to a market. In between runs in the rain and slow walks by the ocean. In between phone calls home, in between cold mornings wrapped in afghan blankets.
In between.
Because sometimes, living on either end, is where the hurt is.
