Straddling

I feel myself in a peculiar place.

Familiar, in some ways, but peculiar none the less.

I feel myself straddling a line between two worlds, two lives, equaly in both, fully in neither. I've been here before, mind - the days when I am dazed, feeling displaced as I often do, wondering why I am in this house, with these people, living this life, when they are not mine. My life is elsewhere, elsewhen. I don't live in Georgia...I live in the mountains out west. Not in a house, in a cabin. I don't have a child, I have a garden. I know this feeling.

And yet...

And yet, it is different. The line I straddle now is the border between what has been and what may be. What is and what could be. What I have and what I want. What I know and what I hope for.

Feet planted on either side, I am anchored by one and yearn toward another and so am balanced on a razor-thin edge, careful of how I go lest I slip and am cut to ribbons.