Page 2 of 7

I do not profess to be made from any material as beautiful;
I am only the working man’s wood.

I have peered over the edge of the Cliffs of Moher in to the expanse of Galway Bay. I have run barefoot across sharp rocks and jumped headlong in to the Aegean Sea, thrice, after being immersed in the hot springs of Eftalou.

I am a place holder.
I am what is between you, and the other.
I am unnoticed, but holding fast.
I am neither the beginning or the end.
I am never the first love, or the last.
I am only the girl between all the rest.

does that make me an artist or a surgeon?
does it make me neither, I’m not certain
does it make me Mr. Hyde or the Doctor?
am I Frankenstein or the Monster?