Thanks For Dying With Us

Prologue
Stories from the In-Between

A liminal space is neither here nor there. It’s the hallway, not the room. The airport at 3 a.m., not the flight. The silence between words. The breath before a decision. The echo of something that just left. These spaces feel off — uncertain, still, suspended — but they’re full of possibility. Time slips. Rules bend. Meaning flickers.

This book exists in those spaces — not always physically.

I’m not telling stories that happen in liminal spaces — I’m trying to write liminal stories. Stories made of half-remembered places, forgotten feelings, people you almost knew, emotions that passed through you without warning. 

They carry that strange pull of déjà vu — familiar, yet somehow too far from home. Like something you dreamed once, and almost remembered.

Some of these stories are grounded in reality. Others drift. Most resist resolution. But all of them live in that in-between — where the familiar turns strange, and nothing is exactly what it seems. But all of them belong to the liminal.

Step in, but don’t expect a clear way out.