The in-between 
 
Joy is a simple thing- 
it is the rare heat of the sun in winter, 
it is the everyday kiss of love on the cheek, 
it is a warmth in the chest; 
easy to find as a child, 
increasingly elusive in adulthood. 
 
Joy becomes a memory- 
our father's scent, 
our mother's laughter, 
the smell of summer rain; 
the familiar light of love, 
that we search for constantly 
in the roving eyes of strangers, 
and in the cold arms of new luxuries. 
 
Then  there is sorrow- 
complex, delighting in its own existence, 
defined and pale in contrast to joy; 
a pungent flavor on the tongue, 
once tasted, remaining forever; 
A drop of poison, 
like a sliver of mist on a sunny day; 
a discordant note in a loved song, 
always present, 
sometimes all the way, sometimes barely. 
 
 
 
 
 
And so, there is only the in-between. 
Some joy, some sorrow- 
alloyed into a new entity, 
composition unique to each individual. 
For a lucky few,  
sorrow runs like lace trimming 
along the edges of joy. 
And for others, 
sorrow threads across joy, 
dark green and stark, 
like veins running all over,  
feeding joy, transmuting it 
into a fickle, fleeting creature of bittersweet kind. 
 
And so we exist, in this in-between- 
every thought colored by sorrow, yes, 
but also touched by joy, 
for does one even exist without the other? 
And so we cannot give up either, 
without giving up both. 
So we only hold them close, 
and run our fingers across them; 
pick the pain apart, consolidate the good, 
unravel the in-between, 
only to have it shift and re-form, 
   
seemingly different, but still the same.