He realized then that the plane was a liminal space. He was neither here nor there, neither the man who failed in Seattle nor the man who would start over in London. For these ten hours, he was just a passenger in a pressurized tube, suspended by physics and faith. The Descent
Leo stood up, his legs heavy, but his mind strangely light. He looked back at the massive curve of the fuselage as he walked through the jet bridge. The plane had done its job; it had carried the weight he couldn't carry himself. Now, it was just him and the open terminal. big_jet_plane
When the wheels finally kissed the Heathrow runway with a sharp chirp of rubber, the spell broke. The cabin erupted into the rustle of jackets and the clicking of seatbelts. He realized then that the plane was a liminal space
