These are the days where I belong.

Never the sunny days, nor the warm ones. I belong to the grey, cloudy days; the ones which are cold but not too cold, the ones where the silence is the default soundtrack. 
I’m not Summer and yet I’m not Winter, I’m not beautiful enough to be Autumn, and too heavy-hearted to be Spring. 
I am the inbetweens. 
The days most people don’t notice and don’t remember, yet stand out like a sore thumb when compared to the snows and the sunshine. 
I am the twilight hours, where everything seems to stand still; the stopped time. I am the quiet before the storm, the wave before it breaks. All the leap days that didn’t happen. The rolling mist upon the hill, the frost on the broken window, the barren tree. The vacant home. I am the sad days, numb days, tired days. I am the taken breath not yet released, the hovering thumb over “send”, the landline ringing at 3 a.m.; the space where all dreams go when they don’t come true. 
And yet, ’tis the days where I am the most tranquil.


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