A liminal space of an empty elementary school playground at night, bathed in the dim glow of flickering streetlights. The cracked asphalt, once filled with laughter and running feet, is now eerily silent. The faded hopscotch lines and scuffed four-square courts remain, ghostly reminders of a time that feels distant yet strangely familiar. The old metal swings creak gently in the night breeze, swaying ever so slightly as if someone just left. The slide, its metal surface cold and reflecting the pale moonlight, stands abandoned. The chain-link fence enclosing the playground rattles softly, the only sound breaking the heavy silence. The dull hum of a distant highway lingers in the air, mixing with the faint scent of chalk and damp pavement. Beyond the playground, the darkened school building looms, its windows empty and unblinking. A single fluorescent light flickers in a distant hallway, casting long, unsettling shadows. Though no one is here, the place feels alive, as if the echoes of recess and childhood games still cling to the air. This is a place you’ve been before—or maybe just dreamed of—a space between memories, forever paused in time.