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Original Poetry - Middle Life, by Beatrice Pitocco.
Sometimes I stand in the middle of life. Watching the people rushing on by. They move so quickly to and fro, and I wonder where it is, they're about to go. I look at the faces, and don't comprehend. Each one of them has a beginning, and each one has an end. Each life is unique, yet ordinarily the same. And I try to adjust to this very strange game. Maybe I am a part of something bigger than me. Like words in a book, in a library. Each word holds no meaning but together they speak. And by reading we see, that it isn't so bleak. There's a subtlety to this life, that's hard to ignore. Love is the answer we refuse to explore. And all that I want, almost desperately, is for someone to want me indefinitely. I have lived like the rest, rushing to and fro. In my own head, in my own mind, always on the go. But truth is, I was running, looking for an escape. Trying to fill the void of emptiness with a different landscape. But I know now the truth, that is in my heart. I was the happiest when I loved, from the very start. I was fulfilled when I wasn't just thinking of me. I was happy to be with someone, living vivaciously. But sometimes, things just don't seem to work out. And you are filled with sadness, and so much self doubt. That you find yourself standing in the middle of life. Hoping to understand it, all, in due time.