The Moments I Feel Liminal
1. Coming home in the morning I sit on the stairs outside and light whatever I have in my jacket pocket. I'll rest in the Ieftover makeup underneath my bottom lashline, soak in the headache I've been ignoring, and sink into the porch steps. My headphones will run out of battery. The sunlight will pass through my skin and show me the outline of my veins, then creep back behind the looming rainclouds. My hands will stay empty for a few minutes before I go inside. I toss my cigarette butts and joint ends into the trash bin instead of on the sidewalk to hide the habit but the remnants of ash on the top step are as good as a carving of my name.
2. Sometimes when I stand on the subway platform I’ll notice the inklings of light that creep along the railways in the seconds before the train turns the corner and shoots wind through my temples. I’ll catch myself lose focus for the instant they become visible so they dance just past my eyeline, then I pretend they could be the sparks of a fireplace or fairy lights twinkling in the haze of sleep.
3. When I walk to lecture on Thursday afternoons I'll take a shortcut through a stretch of houses tucked into the side of the university. I'll put my headphones around my neck and turn the music all the way up so I can still hear it blaring. Sometimes I'll look down and let the scents from the kitchens and living rooms with their windows open shepherd me: first there'll be burning, then a candle, then the darkened scent of a cellar before I turn onto a waft of sandalwood from inside the corner store.
4. The early shift forces me awake before the sun comes up. Nothing has changed since I've last been awake so I keep my phone in my room: my soundtrack is the gradual crescendo of the kettle and the wires turning in the toaster. The cat will crunch into her bowl and I'll look out the window into the reflection of the cold stove light, then a car will rush past and scare her away. I'll sip my coffee with cold hands and get ready in silence, tying together the ends of a dream in my head.
5. At night I'll take an hour to induce the in-between no matter how late it is, dimming the lights and setting tea candles on the windowsill. I'll work my way through a bag of sunflower seeds and think about the girl from my class I forgot to text back before going to bed. The fan will blow away the smoke from the incense stick and I'll put it out when the cat comes in to say goodnight. I have to be up soon but still I'll delay drifting off and sink into the bed for hours, letting sleep slowly caress my skin and take me home.
Cover Photo by Samuel Huron. Edited by Madison Case.