Between the happy and sad,
the pride and disappointment,
one finds themself believing
in God, the great equalizer.
Not out of desperation
or some silly whim,
but out of the middle,
the centrifugal force
pulling to reality,
what is indeed
stranger than fiction.
Ennui has the stranglehold,
its grip tight and loose
simultaneously;
the fundamental distraction
from love and fear,
and the space to be traveled.
It’s found in the air,
being breathed in,
with the excursion
through the lungs and capillaries
into the bloodstream being
as meaningless as itself,
but as infectious as sin.
It is worse than heaven,
and it is far worse than hell.
This isn’t the place
where things go to die,
or even beg for forgiveness.
It is where they wallow,
where no light is shed,
and where the only things teeming
are body systems,
blood and water,
air and carbon.
It is the quintessential
moment of ‘uhh’.
Where love is a name
no one has ever heard of.