November 06, 2020.

There is a spot in your home, no matter how well you know it, no matter how long you've lived there, that will always be liminal. It's a little less than a square foot of space that you have never paused: maybe in a hall, maybe a doorway, maybe halfway through a room, maybe on the stairs. Whenever you are in this space it is only to pass through, unthinking.

It's not the place next to the bathroom you once made out with the cute guy at the Christmas party, it's not the place on the stairs you once, while very drunk, ate an entire pot of macaroni and cheese with a wooden mixing spoon. It's not where you hung the poster of The Boss. You have no memories built on this spot, and you never will.

The things that live there wouldn't allow it.