Somewhere in the middle.
Stillness. Nope, no “Polo” to my “Marco.”
It’s a never-ending game I play to locate the truth. Where is the truth and more importantly, why is my truth always in hiding?
I don’t know where I am right now. As everyone walks their own path, I’m lost somewhere, straggling the lines of unknowns and always finding myself somewhere in the middle.
As a writer, I want nothing more than to give this story the happy ending it deserves, to give myself the happily ever for which I’ve passionately strived. Only the lines of the paper blur together, the ink runs dry and I find myself stuck somewhere in the middle of the story.
I never asked to be saved and I never needed a savior. I am the heroine of my own story. But this heroine is tired of having her lines twisted, sick of feeling unappreciated and done with the constant noise and interference of outsiders. This is my story and its beauty is worth hearing. So why isn’t anyone listening?
Sometimes, I secretly wish I could be the heroine who cries for help and didn’t always have to be so strong. Sometimes, I grow tired of trying to coax the truth from his hiding place. Sometimes, I feel so left out and deleted from my own story. And sometimes, I need nothing more than this love and my truth to find me and meet me somewhere in the middle.