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There’s something extremely dreamlike about those places that only observe our transience. They’re not the destination or the main event but are just a landmark beckoning, whispering “you’re getting closer” or “goodbye“ or maybe even saying nothing at all.
They are witnesses to nothing. Just the before and the after.
These are places you've thought about just barely enough to be ingrained in your subconscious, and removed from their context, taken out of their journey.
Many places are often nearly universally liminal. Highway ramps and nondescript hallways. I’m thinking of the ramp to go southbound on I-75 in Detroit, where I often drove sleepily, steeped in anticipatory joy, soon to be reunited with my (now ex) lover.
Others are subjectively liminal, like the apartment complex outside the Korean spa I frequent in the colder months. The buildings in the night I consider are main stages for their inhabitants, cradling new marriages, single mothers, divorced uncles, and fresh graduates.
Altogether I think appreciating of liminal spaces helps us recognize the habitual joys (and slogs) of life.
They are witnesses to nothing. Just the before and the after.
These are places you've thought about just barely enough to be ingrained in your subconscious, and removed from their context, taken out of their journey.
Many places are often nearly universally liminal. Highway ramps and nondescript hallways. I’m thinking of the ramp to go southbound on I-75 in Detroit, where I often drove sleepily, steeped in anticipatory joy, soon to be reunited with my (now ex) lover.
Others are subjectively liminal, like the apartment complex outside the Korean spa I frequent in the colder months. The buildings in the night I consider are main stages for their inhabitants, cradling new marriages, single mothers, divorced uncles, and fresh graduates.
Altogether I think appreciating of liminal spaces helps us recognize the habitual joys (and slogs) of life.
19h ago
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