for the waiting, when the answer is still on its way.
for the space between the question and the answer.
Some of the hardest hours in a life are the ones in the middle. After the interview, before the answer. After the scan, before the call. After you finally asked, before they replied. Nothing has happened yet, so there's nothing to tell anyone. And that's the part that gets lonely.
I built The In-Between while I was standing in one of those stretches myself. It's a small page you can open at 3am. Send a light up. Set something heavy down and let the sky hold it for a while. Keep the words that steady you, so they drift back to you later. Drop the small good things into a jar as they arrive: a warm reply, a good coffee, a kindness. Let them collect.
Everything you write stays on your own device. Nothing is sent anywhere, nothing is measured, and nothing is stored about you. It doesn't count your days or keep a streak. It won't ask you to come back, and it will never tell you you've fallen behind. It keeps everything, and asks nothing of you.
It's free, and it stays free. If it's been a light for you and you'd like to pass a little warmth back, that's all this page is. It keeps the lanterns lit for whoever is waiting next. And if you'd rather take what you needed and go, that's completely fine. That's what a gift is.
Liora Lanea fellow in-betweener
If something is weighing on you, put it into words and send it up. You are not solving it tonight. You are just setting it down for a while.
Words you want to come back to: a line that steadies you, something someone said, a reading or fortune you were given. Keep them here, and they'll drift back to you when you send up a light.
What arrived while you waited. When something good turns up, however small (a warm reply, a good coffee, a kindness), drop it in here. Whenever, or never. The jar keeps everything and asks nothing.
It can feel that way at 3am. It isn't true.