I walked.
On the edge of the abyss.
One step after another, with the absurd slowness of bodies that no longer know if they're moving forward or fading away. Nothing pushed me, nothing pulled me, and yet I kept going, as if by inertia. Each movement seemed to cost me more, not in strength, not in breath, but in existence itself. As if each step gnawed at me a little more, crumbled me inside, took away a part of my name, my outline, my flesh. I wasn't walking to escape. Not to reach anything. I walked… to disappear. Not all at once. Not by falling. But slowly. Silently. As if the world, tired of holding me upright, had decided to undo me grain by grain, in this suspended, fragile walk, where the abyss, too, seemed to wait. Not to swallow me. But to recognize me.
