I fell.
But there was no ground. Nothing. Not even that instinctive promise of an impact to come, not that painful anticipation of the moment when the fall meets its end. Nothing. No wall, no ceiling, no reference point. No echo to bounce back my presence. No limit to confirm that I still existed. Only this void. This silence. This absence suspended like a too-heavy sheet over a memory laid too bare.
And yet… I was falling. Falling without speed, without motion, without sound. A fall that no longer fell. A drift frozen in the absolute of a boundless nothingness. As if the world had stopped spinning around me, but continued to suck me in, piece by piece, fiber by fiber, until nothing identifiable was left. There was no light. No shadow. Only this strange texture, this soft density that touched nothing but still weighed. A matrix without weight, without shape, without name. A place that refused to be a place. A reality that refused to be conceived.
