inbetween the wanting and the needing and the wishing and the dreaming, inbetween the vigil
and the daybreak and the whispering ghosts of the morrow, inbetween the rituals and the faceless feasts, the unanswered calls and the hollow halls of delusion, inbetween the heartbeats and the deep breaths, inbetween the willingness and the pulling back, and the wounds left behind,
there, in the inbetweens, i am actually able
constanza's poem
