Life has secured me firmly in the middle

Neither firstborn nor runt

Unable to grasp absolutes.

As the future perpetually filters through the present

And becomes the past

I swim in a world of nows anew.

Ideas originate

And manifest

And evolve

And stall

And deconstruct and reconstruct

But finalize?

Projects may achieve completion

But the final touch?

The last stroke of paint?

The penultimate edit?

Only until the next surfacing.

Even this chapter begins as an ending

Dependent upon further continuations

To become yet another middle

In a world without end.