Liminality

I am neither in nor out.

Meaning, there is no reference point.

And I will do things, 

like meet you

to fling paint and 

drink wine,

even though I know 

it’s more an invitation

to soothe our broken hearts and

seek solace in our 

mutual desire

for loving 

and being loved.

And yes, our comfort in

each other is 

hot and fleshy and fun

and leaves us spent for the moment,

but it’s not

in and it’s 

not out,

and there is no reference point.

You are shy and I am silent,

we are protecting

our still broken hearts,

but now we are 

even more naked,

even more exposed.

We talk about what we want:

you begin and I am grateful,

you are speaking

my heart as you open your own

our deep need 

for healing from within  

what is it to be so self-referred?

fulfilled? contained?

our deep desire 

for connection from without

will I ever belong?

to anyone? anything?

We toss about a way or two

to moil through the mire together,

but our hearts are

neither in nor out.

There is no reference point.

We cannot see the way.

And so I say:

like it or not, we are living

the in-between space,

not together and not separate,

grasping yes, but somehow still healing,

we’re threestepsforwardtwostepsback

a mirror,

a reflection,

a possibility,

a reminder.

And even without knowing

the depth and breadth

of the stories that

brought us into this

liminal space of heartache

and darkness,

the reference is our

orientation to the light,

whatever else we may

or may not be to

each other.

We are a witness

for the journey

of the threshold  

– the doorway –

and the courage of the heart

that beats and beats

no matter

how far in

or how far out

we may be.