Middle.

I hate that swing between exercise hot and cool down chills
where your body cannot decide if it is in discomfort or safety.
Like that moment between your last sentence and a new thought
that never quite realizes itself.

I hate the conscious middle ground of accepting the beauty in something
that others call ugly
but a thousand convictions deeper than anything
anyone else can say overrule.

I hate the morning, but I love the sunrise
everything being new, but having to start all over again
I love the night but long for bed
but regret that I sleep so many of my days away.

I hate loneliness but I desperately crave solitude
the moments of my own breath are the core of me
and yet I run from them
drown them out with other noise.

I love the certainty of black, but need the openness of white
there is no space for grey in this place
or is there?
I’m so far in the middle I can no longer tell.

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