Between Beats

The space where motion continues, but meaning disappears.

Time is measured in beats.
I find myself in the space between,
a stillness no one speaks of,
where nothing begins,
and nothing ends.

It’s been a while
since the last one,
long enough to wonder
if another will ever come.

Without a purpose
to make the beat meaningful.

Where am I when time stops?
Alive or dead?
Alive to the world,
dead to myself.

The world sees rhythm in my motion,
Calculated moves,
deliberate steps,
performed to perfection.
But are they me,
or my alter ego on autopilot?

Years of duty,
honed into muscle memory.
I am more than my actions,
but no one stops to ask.

Seen,
but never opened.
Like a book on a shelf,
Functional,
but fading.

I need to feel alive,

time to flow onward,
for the beat to beat.

The beat of a purpose,
something to hold onto,
something that makes life
beat again
with meaning.

Backstory: Between Beats

I wrote this poem during a rest period between sets at the gym. I had just finished a heavy set of shoulder presses. Sixty seconds before the next one.

In that pause, you reflect on what just happened. You steady your breath. You prepare for what’s next. There’s purpose in the pause, because you know what’s coming.

But my mind wandered, what if there was no next set?

What if life just stayed in that limbo? Moving, yes. But not really going anywhere. Like muscle memory taking over. Like a body that knows the motions, even when the mind has checked out.

From the outside, you look sharp. Functional. Focused.
But inside, it’s just noise. A routine on autopilot.

You can coast through life the same way you coast through workouts, precise, performed, practiced, yet purposeless.

Between Beats is about that space.
Where you look like you’re in motion, but you’re standing still.
Where you wait for the next beat to come.
The one that makes it all feel like it means something again.