I'm seem to be in this place of in-betweens.
The thing I use to be, I no longer am. But the thing I'm suppose to be, I'm not there yet. So where am I? I'm in the place of in-between, and the only way to to go is, either back from the place where I came from, or to try again to reach the place that I've been walking for a long time towards.
I feel exactly like Robert Frost in Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening. I've found this little lovely copse of woods where I want so much to stop and play and rest and indulge myself, and get myself lost in, so nobody can find me in there. But I can't, because I have to keep to my promises and keep on journeying, but oh, it's so many many more miles before I will reach the end of my journey.
Why so long?
The woods are lovely, dark and deep
But I have promises to keep
And miles to go before I sleep
And miles to go before I sleep
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