Between Times

My Monday has begun while others sleep. It has begun while Sunday lingers elsewhere. I am aware of this. Not simply because I know, but because I feel - feel tugged to linger in yesterday even as today begins apace and tomorrow waits its turn to roll steadily onward.

I am aware that I am between times, planted solid in the middle of the Witching hour, an endless midnight following the line, the chiaroscuro of day and night that chases its tail around the planet, ceaseless.

I am aware that now, as I define it, is the same moment you experience; my now, your now, are twined, inseparable, identical despite our disparate experience of these moments.

The air I exhale becomes your inhalation. The breath that leaves you enters me. We mingle. The moment you live, I live, too. We're reflecting light out into the Universe and absorbing the reflections it sends back to us, and it all spins ceaselessly in these between times.

My Monday. Your Sunday. All the same. It's only our perception that keeps us apart. Perception is everything.

Perceive differently.

I'll be waiting in the endless potential, between times.