The Text Artist
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In Between

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This feeling when I’m in between.
In between worlds.
In between lifes.

When my body has travelled faster than my mind and my emotions.
When I’ve crossed borders and regions, mountains and rivers, day after day, week after week. Flying high and falling low.
When I’ve met humans. Deeply. To only say good-bye again.

The tender heart is asking to rest, to breathe, to be still.

The feeling when this kind of reality slips out of my hands.
When what I believed I was holding firmly turns out to be a mirage.
Grasping in emptiness.
I’m not on drugs. Am I?

People walk as if they would know.
As if they had purpose.
As if… they were not in between.

In between worlds.
In between lifes.

When some end is crystal clear, but ahead is only haze.
When everything you know seems to fall apart, melt, transition.
No ground, no anchor, no home.

Tumbling through the universe. Falling.
The world is spinning at a speed that I need a focus to survive.
The center of the merry-go-round is still.

I breathe.
I am home.
Home in between.

And Estas plays his Internal Flight and my heart picks up the beat.

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