/in the middle

/in the middle

He lifted his gaze and looked at the landscape one last time, that was and wasn’t his any longer. Everything was in splits — his heart, his mind, his mood — the sky. Should he be thankful for what it gave him, even though it was merely a monosyllable in his essay called Life? Or should he be mad, for it gave him hope and killed hope itself? Happy for the joy or dejected for the misery?

He can’t decide. Maybe that’s why he took a couple of weeks off, knowing full well that it’s not time that will heal it. But in hopes of going through the motions and coming out the other side with a clear mind. Maybe he was expecting a rainbow and all it ever was partly cloudy with a chance of tears?

He knew that everything has flip sides. Maybe he didn’t expect the hint of grey in the background to cover the bright blues with one sweep. But all things come to an end — no matter which side of the spectrum they lie on — a trip, an experience, a relation, a story… a fable. Everyone knows that. It’s the acceptance that comes at a pace dictated by the amount of metaphysical investment one has made.

Maybe he knows nothing. Maybe he knows it all too well. Maybe he is here to stay. Maybe he is just passing by. Maybe he is standing at its periphery. Or maybe he is reaching out to life itself, hoping for all it has jettisoned towards him — good, bad, best, worse, to maybe, meet him in the middle.

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