Being in-between is never the lackluster of choice. I heed choices around like flyers wanting to join a cause. Imaginary circus of arts that never heed the claims of self choice. Choice disregards the claims of the imaginary circus. Disregarding all claims. Flyers flying around the in-between being free. Captured within there realm. Realm full of artistic surges! Extending past its bubble. Purging a focus deeming itself without worthy statements. Since actuality isn’t much of a focus for being in-between. A bubble surrounding even greater surfaces. One marked by choices. Marked by claims. Even marking self choice. Anti disregarding symptoms. Caring for what actually happens. An illusion in the light, that purges the shade holding two halves into one singular point. Points too judgy for claims, such as responsibility. No yes’s and no’s to be the counter balance. Imaginary circus becoming somewhat tainted. Heeds around choices without claims to care. Surging the realm full of arts. Nothing happens, until it chooses to act. I am in-between. And I am balance itself.

"The most important things are the hardest things to say.
They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them--words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size when they're brought out.
But it's more than living isn't it?
The most important things lie too close to wherever your secret heart is buries, like landmarks to a treasure your enemies would love to steal away.
And you may make revelations that cost you dearly only to have people look at you in a funny way, not
to understanding what you've said at all, or why you thought it was so important that you almost cried while you were saying it.
That's the worst, I think.
When the secret stays locked within not for want of a teller
but for want of an understanding ear."