hurting.

While you wish you could complain about this place. Despite the emptiness it's not that bad. It isn't too hot, isn't too cold, the wind is just right, and also doesn't exist at the same time. Infact neither does temperature. You can't even feel uncomfortable here. You also can't feel comfortable. Any position is equal here. Turns out being incorporeal doesn't allow for differing levels of comfort. You're still falling. That is the one thing which exists here. Isn't it? What are you falling to? Does it matter? Can you even say for certain if you would even care IF you knew? It's not like you can do anything about it. You aren't anyone. You do not exist on that faithful day you just stopped existing. The tree does not fall. None of this matters you could do anything here. Say anything here and nothing would happen of meaning outside of you.

It's lonely here. You can't talk to anyone else. Even see them, your memory of other people is rapidly fading. How long has it been? Hours? Days? Weeks? It doesn't matter. Does it? You'll be here as long as you are. Never changing never living. Dead not in truth but in soul. Static and vacant from all else. Was there a different choice? Is there a different choice. Can you can you can you can you can you can you.

Can you even fathom a different choice. Really the answer is no. It felt so clear at the time, this is what you were meant to do. What you had to do. And so you did. And look where it got you. Normally you weren't this obedient. But it felt different this time and you paid the price.

You have not stopped falling as of yet. Shocking. Isn't it? You take a moment to rest. It's been getting dark in here. So you try to remember better times. The taste of a nice tea on your lips while sick. The tea bringing joy to a time of anguish. A hug for someone soon to be gone. Unable to truly say goodbye in any way that matters with the promise of seeing each other looming over each of you. Despite the distance you both share with each other now.

A cut on your arm from one reason or another aching as it slowly heals, as you become more whole and that which was there before becoming nothing but a little faded scar. The blood of another spilling out onto you whether from inaction or action it does so. Pooling on your skin so perfectly.

The feel of a pen in your hand, a utensil to construct worlds of wonder and horror. A knife in your hand to slice and dice vegetables.

The little things are the ones you miss most too.

That restaurant that's a regular for you. The person you know at the local convenience store. The smell of a new book that you know you are never going to get around to reading. The clack of a keyboard as you write a message to a friend you haven't spoken of or to in a while.

The blankets you cover yourself with worn and well used. Comfortable and safe. Sleep that is so sound you don't dream and simply wake up the next day. Sleep that is even sounder and you have the most wonderful dreams that you wish you could go back to despite knowing you never could.

It all isn't here. None of it. Not even the pen. Not really.

All is unreachable aside from your mind. And you yearn and hope that one day you can have those all again. But you know. Oh you know in your heart that no; you do not get the grace of such a wonder. The experience of life. Because really.

That's what life is. You think to yourself. Life is not just the good parts, or the bad parts. It is a mixture of both. The bitterness of coffee. The bite of the cold as it seeps in through your jacket.

Without the good parts the bad is overwhelming. Without the bad parts the good is simply whelming. Not here though. It's just the monotony of everything manifest. You probably couldn't explain it. But none of this sucks. Technically that's a lie. But factually it's held it's weight. It's also not enjoyable.

It's just nothing. Not a mid point between good and bad, not a mid point between fun and frustrating. No just the simple absence of such a dichotomy. Nothing has happened here. You simply fall. And that is all.

Something is innately calming about that you realize. Because no matter how hard it gets to be here. At the end of the day all is stagnant here. Even you more or less. Nothing has changed since you got here. Maybe it's moved a bit. Yes, however that movement is merely superficial. Uncaring of what the object is and what it does, the object not caring in return.

Change is not a constant within these confines. And if it does happen it ceases as soon as it happens. You are simply a snapshot in time. If someone met you now it would be no different from if they met you a thousand years in the future.

It's calming. And disconcerting. You don't know why you are ok with this. Just that you are and it will all be fine. Because at the end of the day. You are still falling. And that is all.

The musings are only a side effect of your still extent mind. You don't know if souls exist however this might prove that they do in a weird and strange way. After all your body is gone and yet here you are acting like everything is fine. Granted this place is normal. Or maybe it is. Whom art thou to judge what is, and isn't considered normal.

After all. This is just a normal Tuesday for you. Maybe not for some other people. The ones outside this place. But for all you can see. Nothing is different about this place from how it usually is. Time not mattering and all.

Granted time still exists. But it's not like it matters. A second here is no different from a month or a year. For there is nothing but falling within this realm. You still yearn for elsewhere of course how could you not. Nothingness might be better than torture but monotony within something seems preferable to monotony within nothing.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

You suppose you do, infact have things around you. Though those are more kind pleasantries than anything actually fulfilling. There is nothing to do here but think. And think. Perhaps some pondering, you know why you're here so you can't ponder that, how? That's a question you can't seem to answer at this current moment. But you're sure you'll divine something.

Maybe there is no reason, maybe here is always and there never was, can you even remember the faces of the ones you loved? Could you ever? You were never great with memory, or were you, you suppose it'd be ironic if you forgot that you had a good memory at some point or another.

But for now? You're here. You haven't stopped falling yet, hopefully one day you will, but for now, nope.

Still falling.

There isn't even the feel of air on your face, coursing through the hair on you head brushing past your body as you meet it for the briefest moment, the briefest second; 2 paths intersecting, one bouncing off, the other barreling down all the same.

You remember the feeling, hold onto it, for this is not what it feels like, no of course not, it feels more empty, like you are being pulled down, but there is nothing to greet you, maybe that's the secret, there is nothing here, at all, only you so you fall because you think that there should be gravity, so there is, and because you think that, you fall farther and farther down, into nothing because only you are here, and because it wouldn't make sense for everything else with you to suddenly be gone, though imperfect they are here aswell.

But despite all of that, you are still falling.

You realize something, a reason you may have not hit the ground yet. For if you think you are nowhere, and that this is an anomaly, with nothing inside, it stands to reason; there is no ground.

But if it's true that you are only falling because gravity feels like it should be.

You land, or well you try, you try to imagine landing on some ground, nothing to specific just some hard plane that stretches on the bottom of your enclosure. And yet you still fall, nothing changing.

But that's not entirely true now is it? It feels like you are approaching something, you don't know what or how long it is going to take, but you hold onto the idea that yes, there is something at the bottom of this, and you will reach it, no matter how long it takes.

Does it matter what this place it if you are as it is; and it is as you are? Does the rules of a place matter when new ones can be forged? And yet you are still falling.

Soon, soon, soon.

Perhaps you'll land, it does feel like you are nearing.

The tempting nature of this experience is something akin to unbearable, you are so close to landing, you can feel it, you know it, and yet here you are still falling further and further down, falling falling falling falling falling.

But it doesn't matter now does it? Nothing has changed is that what this place is? A static, not ever shifting like the radiation in the background, just there nothing changing, nothing mattering static, noise that does not matter. Not even useful, just there.

Where was the bus stop, why did it feel final, is this a bad dream. Is this all just a nightmare.

You know the answer, it doesn't matter, and this has been going on for to long to be a dream, it doesn't matter, nothing matters. You don't want to do this anymore.

Anything else would be better you are done, finished perhaps soon you'll be done with this, it feels like you are falling to something, has it always? Did you just forget, do you know, does it matter. Does it matter what you are falling to if you never reach it.

You want to die, that's not true, you rephrase that within your mind, you don't want to be here anymore. Like how one with chronic pain does not wish for death and instead wishes for the cancellation of the pain.

The suicidal are often less suicidal when not in situations which cause them to want to die after all.

Not like it matters, you couldn't die here, something about the indomitable human spirit.

So you fall, not that it matters, but you do. Atleast you have that going for you, one constant within your life, one thing which will bring you what little solace you can grow.

If you stopped falling would you ever believe it. No. You wouldn't every step you'll wonder if you trip, ever time you jump you wouldn't be surprised if the ground simply wasn't there when you landed.

Falling and falling and falling over and over.

Is it better to have a taste of heaven if all else will be hell, or is it better to never know what heaven is like and simply rot away in hell. Does the temporary escape from a shitty situation make that situation all the more unbearable.

The answer is yes oh yes it does, you might not remember much but yes it does. But that's not all it does, it gives you hope, hope that things can change, hope that things will, and on that hope you can build an urge, an urge to see it done, and urge to toss away that part of your life and forget it.

But you don't get that, you don't get the bliss of escapement even for a single, solitary second. No, you are falling.

You want to scream want to cry want to leave this place and yet.

You fall and all is still distant to you're senses. Nothing here matters, you stopped caring about getting out at this point, it's hopeless. Even if you had all the knowledge in the universe on everything there ever was, everything that could and should be, you would still be falling, unable to get out unable to leave, and so nothing matters here, nothing can change what's happening now, at the very least none that you know of.

Maybe one day you'll escape, somehow with someway. But now you fall.

You are approaching something, but you don't know what. Does it matter? Is it even important. You are falling. Have you always been falling. Do you know, what life was like before now? It wasn't particularly interesting. How long, how long has it been? Does memories of a past matter if they are unachievable in the now, and the now is nothing like the past? You stop thinking you'll land. Nothing changes, you are nothing but a thing that is falling. Does personification matter at this point? Are you important? What is the purpose of this? What is the meaning of this? You don't think it matters, And yet here we are, no one to hear you scream, no one to see the stone which your past life has become, unknowable, only the surface viewable. Anything deeper and it's unknown.

You're still falling. You Are Still Falling. Stuck with nothing but thoughts and yet nothing to think about. The cruelness of this realm never showing itself. There is a cruelty in nothing. There is a cruelty in ignorance, and yet there is nothing here.

Nothing you can point to and say that it is cruel. Nothing you can blame except yourself. But even then you were made to fall. The moment you walked into this realm, you started falling whether you liked it or not. Is this hell? No. Is this heaven? No. And yet limbo is unfitting, the way the world is viewed commonly does not fit.

There is nothing here. You might aswell not exist, And You Are Falling.

And yet you land.

Finally after all of this time, you've stopped falling.