I exist
somewhere between
letting go
and holding on.
Not fully lost,
not fully found—
just suspended
in a moment
that won’t decide
what it wants to be.
I replay things
I should’ve released,
hold onto words
that already faded,
search for meaning
in places
that stopped answering.
And still—
there’s a part of me
that won’t give up.
A quiet voice
that says
this isn’t the end,
even when everything
feels like it already passed.
Maybe I’m not stuck.
Maybe I’m becoming—
slowly,
uncertainly,
in ways I don’t recognize yet.
Maybe this in-between
isn’t something to escape…
but something
I have to move through
to find
whatever comes next.
Through the Fog 