The Hum of Between
The smell of ozone and floor wax always brings me back to the feeling of being nowhere. It is a sterile, metallic scent that clings to the back of the throat, sharp and cold. I remember the vibration of a floor beneath my feet—a low, rhythmic hum that traveled up through the soles of my shoes, settling into my bones. It is the sensation of waiting, of being suspended in a space that belongs to no one and everyone at once. We are always passing through, our bodies mere ghosts in transit, leaving behind nothing but the heat of our breath and the friction of our movement. There is a strange comfort in this anonymity, in the way the world blurs when you stop trying to hold onto the edges of things. If we are always moving, are we ever truly anywhere, or are we just the space between two points? What does it feel like to finally stop moving and let the world catch up to your own heartbeat?
Mickey Strider has captured this exact feeling of transit in the image titled Detroit Metro Airport. The way the light stretches and pulls reminds me of that restless hum I know so well. Does this blur of motion make you feel like you are arriving, or simply drifting away?
