𝕗𝕚𝕟𝕖 𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕖 𝕒𝕤 𝕡𝕝𝕒𝕔𝕖𝕤 𝕨𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪 𝕚𝕤 𝕒𝕝𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕖𝕕: a thread

𝕒 𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕖𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕
these “altered realities” are often referred to as “liminal spaces”

𝕝𝕚𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕒𝕝 𝕤𝕡𝕒𝕔𝕖𝕤- transitional or transformative spaces. when in a liminal space, some may feel uneasy while others may feel comforted. you may not be able to pinpoint why things feel “off”

often, a liminal space exists as a threshold. they are spaces designed to act as a transition between other places—they’re meant to be forgotten. when you pay attention to them or spend an extended amount of time in them, it may feel strange.

other times, liminal spaces simply lack their usual context. your brain associates certain spaces with certain circumstances, so if you find yourself in these spaces at a specific time of the day or year, it may feel strange.

𝕘𝕠𝕝𝕕𝕖𝕟: your school during a weekend or break. the usually bustling hallways are quiet, and your footsteps on the polished floors seem deafeningly loud.

𝕨𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕞𝕖𝕝𝕠𝕟 𝕤𝕦𝕘𝕒𝕣: the bathroom at a public pool. the air is hot & wet and smells heavily of chlorine. pop music plays quietly through the speakers.

𝕒𝕕𝕠𝕣𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦: the airport very late at night or very early in the morning. it’s nearly empty, and you feel a strange connection to the few strangers around you.

𝕝𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕤 𝕦𝕡: underwater in the deep end of the pool at night. the artificial yellow of the pool lights reflecting off the water turns everything aqua, and all the noises of the outside world are muted and distorted.

𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕣𝕪: when you wake up before anyone else at your friend’s house. you’re hyperaware of your surroundings and the only sounds are quiet breathing and the creaks of the house settling.

𝕗𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘: the beach late at night. the ocean somehow seems larger and more unruly in the dark, an inky black mass of waves. the moonlight illuminates each peak, painting them silver.

𝕥𝕠 𝕓𝕖 𝕤𝕠 𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕖𝕝𝕪: an empty gallery in an otherwise busy museum. it’s just you and the paintings, and it almost feels like you’re intruding on a moment you weren’t meant to see.

𝕤𝕙𝕖: an empty hotel hallway. the smell is strange and unfamiliar, and the seemingly endless stretch of the corridor makes you want to run down it as fast as you can. you wonder what’s happening behind each door.

𝕤𝕦𝕟𝕗𝕝𝕠𝕨𝕖𝕣, 𝕧𝕠𝕝. 𝟞: the lighting section in a hardware store. the overabundance of light is redundant and beautiful.

𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕪𝕠𝕟 𝕞𝕠𝕠𝕟: a rest stop on the side of the highway. you don’t even know what city you’re in, but it somehow feels familiar.

𝕥𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥 𝕡𝕖𝕠𝕡𝕝𝕖 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕕𝕟𝕖𝕤𝕤: inside the tunnel slide at the playground. you can smell the plastic and every time you shift you get shocked by the static. everything is brightly colored.

𝕗𝕚𝕟𝕖 𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕖: inside your bedroom during the first storm of the summer. the drumming of the rain against the roof and windows creates a constant hum of white noise. flashes of lightning illuminate the room in bright white light.

𝕖𝕟𝕕 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕕