Liminal Wordsmith

On a brick-lined alley, next to Daisy, a corgi with more charm than Poe’s raven, I stumbled across this sign: ‘Poe-etry in the pocket.’ It struck me that literature is never just confined to books or screens. It leaks into alleys, into conversations, into the static hum of daily life. We write, we post, we scroll, and in doing so, we prove that words never truly die. They just change costumes, waiting for us to stumble across them again, in some liminal pocket of the world.