Liminal Spaces & Thoughts

12/16/2025

🌑 The last light of morning slipped through the cracked blinds.
I stood in the hallway, the silence heavier than the night before.
No laughter. No footsteps. Just the echo of time passing.
My parents moved slowly, like shadows of themselves — wrinkled hands, breath measured, eyes searching for days they once knew. 🧓👵

I walk the rooms we’ve filled with memories — birthdays, long talks, quiet dinners —
and all I hear now is the tick of a clock that won’t stop. ⏳

There’s no warmth from a partner’s embrace, no children’s voices chasing joy through these halls.
Just me, my parents, and the slow march of days.
Sometimes I think I can hear the whole world breathing — but it isn’t breathing with me. 🌍💭

I fold another shirt.
I refill their glass.
I sit by the window and watch the world go on, distant and bright.
And I wonder when I became the one standing still. 🪟

12/10/2025

🌙❄️ “The Night the Tide Forgot Us” ❄️🌙

We met on a beach that shouldn’t have existed that way —
snow falling where waves were supposed to be warm.
The world felt paused, like someone had pressed hold on reality.
Footsteps in the dark. Your footsteps.
Mine trying not to look like they were searching for anything.

You asked me why I was out there alone.
I told you the truth:
“I don’t know how to rest.”
You laughed softly, a sound that felt like a lantern in the fog.
And just like that, it was the two of us —
two strangers walking the edge of a snowy ocean that didn’t care who we were,
only that we were there.

The sky kept changing colors —
blue to black to something unnamed,
like it was trying on moods the way we tried on courage.
You brushed snow off my sleeve.
I tried not to memorize your face.
Both of us failed.

We talked about nothing and everything:
the childhoods we outgrew,
the futures we didn’t believe would happen,
the strange comfort of knowing some moments don’t belong to time.
You said the beach felt like a hallway between worlds.
I said I hoped this hallway had a door that didn’t close yet.

When your hand found mine,
it felt like something remembered me —
like I’d been missing from myself and didn’t know it.

But vacations end.
Snow melts.
Flights leave before hearts are ready.

The last thing you said was,
“Maybe this place only exists for people who need it.”
And then you walked away into the white wind,
leaving me with the tide,
the cold,
and a version of myself that loved you too fast.

Sometimes I dream of that night —
the quiet waves, the falling snow, your fading silhouette —
and it feels like the world between then and now
is just a long corridor back to you.

❄️🌊💔

12/28/2024

12/21/2024