I feel their loneliness before they’ve even acknowledged it. It’s camouflaged behind their smile, stinging at the edge of their eyes, but it emanates from them. I watch them with their mates, jovially riding out the heartache as if they’re catching a wave. Life goes on and they must go on with it. Sleep, work, eat, drink, force laught, sleep. Repeat for endless days and nights.
I reach out to their vulnerability. I offer them a friendly smile, a solid shoulder, an antidote to rejection, a feel-good, non-commital time. It could last a night, a week, a month, a year. Each time it runs its own course and they they move on.
I’m the one in the middle, if they only take the chance.
I’m in the middle of their past and their future. I’m their present, if they only live in the moment.
I’m in the middle of their heartbreak and their happiness, if they only open their heart and allow themselves to feel again.
I’m in the middle of pain and healing, if they only acknowledge their wounds.
I’m in the middle of ex and wife, never destined to be the latter.
I’m the one in the middle, never the first, never the last.
I’m the one in the middle, left standing alone.
A writing exercise for Nambucca Valley Writers Group – ‘the one in the middle’.