Postcards from the In-Between

I write to you from the small hours,

when the streetlights start to forget themselves

and the city is mostly breath.

I write from the gap between sleeping and not,

from the place where thoughts go

when they have nowhere better to be.

Postcards from the in-between.

From the almost and the nearly was.

From the city that you haven't seen

since it stopped being what it was.

I write to you from the long way round,

from the route I take when I can't face

the shortcut past your window.

I write from the museum of small decisions

that got us here, that got me

to this particular quiet.