liminal space

an incomplete list of liminal spaces i have lost and found myself in: steak and shake past midnight, when the waiters don't care if you fall asleep in the booth and you are alone in the diner. the two steps it took to cross the room and kiss you. somewhere on the edge of the tennessee river, skinny dipping in january, before the moment was broken when the coast guard showed up. the back of your car, with the seats down. coffee cartel, in st. louis, missouri. open twenty-four hours, mysteriously empty. that night, on the futon, in gatlinburg. the cemetery beside my dorm, when the seasons changed and everything was golden. the breath between us when you leaned in and whispered you loved me for the first time. the chinese restaurant, on chinese new year, which we could never find again and may not have existed in the first place. the long walk down the aisle. the rest stop somewhere between here and pensacola, where we stopped at six a.m. the moment when i thought you would kiss me but you didn't. the church in the middle of nowhere, where we always wanted to smoke a cigarette. christmas eve morning, when we swore the sun was broken and the world would always rest on the edges of sunrise, soft. the space between our hands before yours found mine for the last time. the mountain we climbed in the snow. the moment after i realized our kiss was a mistake. a watermelon patch beside the missouri river, just across the bridge from nebraska. the moment i hoped you wouldn't kiss me, but you did. a grocery store parking lot at midnight, holding a bag of yeast rolls. the space between uncapping the vodka and the first shot. waffle house at dawn, when north korea dropped bombs in the south sea and we sang god bless the usa. the moment between taking a shot of vodka and the burning in your throat. almost all of kentucky. the space between me thinking i love you and realizing i'd said it outloud. steak and shake after midnight, with your head on my shoulder and my name on your lips.