Beginning of both worlds

We talk about beginnings and endings like they’re all that matter.

Birth. Death. Light. Dark. Yes. No.
But what about everything in between?
What about the person standing at the edge of both?

That’s where I live.
Not fully anchored in safety. Not completely swallowed by despair.
But somewhere in the middle carrying both the weight of the past and the pull of what’s still unwritten.

I’ve seen what it means to be alive. I’ve brushed up against what it means not to be.
And yet… here I am. Still choosing. Still breathing. Still becoming.

There is life. There is death.
And then there is me 
the quiet, defiant thread that refuses to be either.