It feels, looking at how my life has gone, as though very little of it was lived in the places people expected it to be. I chat to friends sometimes, and they share memories of milestones, which actually mean very little to me. I seem, all too often, to have lived my life in what I call the "between" places - neither one place nor another, somehow scribbling their stories between the lines on which the regular services run. Perhaps...
Related Subjects
Poetry