(Latin limbus, edge or boundary, referring to the “edge” of Hell; Wikipedia)

On some days, I am quite convinced that hell is being stuck on the doorstep between going and staying. Action and inaction, if you will. That makes it both non-denominational and highly personal. Today is one of those fight-or-flight days for me. Lack of sleep often does that. I have a goal, something to strive for, within sight, but at the same time, all motivation is drained from my soul and the loftiest place I wish to be is about two feet off the ground on my couch. This temporary depression is what turns molehills into mountains, if you’re not careful, and small inconveniences into towering heartaches.

But sometimes you realize that even in inner blackness, there is that unavoidable silver lining. For a few days now, I’ve wanted to express my vision of a place “where the sun never shines”. Only every time my hand would wander to the colouring box, it would inevitably return with pink. Or yellow. Or some other entirely unsuitable shade. Until: grey skies. Rain on bare pavement. Sad, brown vines desperately clinging to dirty, cracked walls. And I found the black, the purple, the dark-dark greens. Even darkness wants to be created.

In the Pines


“Things grow towards the light
Looking to find what they are looking for
And grasses grow high
In pursuit of the sky
Like those who’ve come before
Now and evermore”


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