I am detached, in the in-between.

Floating so ever carelessly. I have no tangible obligations, for there isn’t anything tangible in this vastness space of the in-between, full of everything and nothing. Nothing to you, but everything to me.

My world is there, in the in-between. It is vivid and daring. Some others live there, too, but not many.

In the other world, yours, it seems all is tired gray—painted by the same brush is a thousand remarkably similar “original” strokes. The tedious hours of watching it dry into the same shade of previous attempts drove me on a quest to find a new art.

And so I came upon the in-between.

It’s a salted green, rough as a baby’s skin, and tough as a toothpick. It snaps and swirls in a bold spectacle.

It’s a harsh orange, a daring hue of sunset, hissing violently.

It’s a curious lavender that won’t sit still for two seconds, packing up baggy eyes and whisking even the most indifferent creamy grays to fantastical places.

That is the in-between. That is my world.

It can be difficult to find for the skeptics, the unbelieving, the doubtful. But, it’s even harder for those who refuse to believe, who see the in-between through a dusted, blurry inverse microscope.

No matter, the in-between is always there because there will always be those like me, those who believe.

You can come there, too. In fact, I am there right now. Follow the path in the back of your mind where the cobweb-ridden corner meets discarded fantasies. They’ll fire alive the instant you get there.

Then, after some much-needed small talk and catching up with each one, walk hand-in-hand with them to another corner. It doesn’t matter which one; take your pick.

Just keep walking, and just keep holding on to them. At one of the corners, you’ll find a door. It looks different for everyone, but once you open it, you’ll come to the same place: the in-between.

In between what is and what isn’t. What can be and what can’t. What will and what won’t.

Whatever you want to find, you will find, but only in the in-between.

And so I float, in the in-between, swimming from thought to thought on the borders of reality, hand-in-hand with every imaginative curio I choose to believe in. Only then am I in the in-between.

Only then am I in my world.