More scientifically, the word is derived from limbus, usually associated with the distinctive border between the cornea and the sclera of the eye. It's always interesting how a definition so vague can walk hand-in-hand with one so completely literal and exact.
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Limbo. There's something poetic about constantly hovering on a border, a state of sheer indecision. We face it every day as we open our eyes, daylight shining onto that microscopic border just ahead of those delicate optic nerves. You can always make a decision to quit, stop trying. Or you get up and face another day.
Limbo can also be described as a place of imprisonment or confinement. Those times you feel damned if you do, damned if you don't. But you still have to choose. Limbo is never a place that can you stay, it's never really a home.
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