Say you’re a raindrop, you’ve fallen. You didn’t even trip, you weren’t pushed. It just happened, you looked around and there’s no one to blame. Not a soul saw you drop, just the winds.
It’s real. It hits you. It’s happening. It’s happened. It is that quick. It’s sealed, you can’t go back. You don’t know that yet, but it’s slowly hitting home. You feel it, but you don’t want to believe it. You close your eyes, you want to wish it away. But it’s here. You can’t go back,You can only try.
You try, but it’s eerily unavailing.
You attempt to cling to the edges, the edges aren’t visible, you can’t. You recall being halfway eyes-shut. You try kick around, you are jittery.
Arms in the air, you wave them around, you yell. You scream your lungs out. It’s like a vacuum is your amplifier, no one hears, no one saves you, not even those that swore they’d grab a cloud for you. So you fall.
It starts slow; the fall, maybe it’ll end soon. You capitulate. Is it hopelessness, is it hope? You aren’t sure. You hope it’ll end ad lib, end quick. Despair isn’t convention after all. On the wings of time a fall, any fall should fly. There has to be ground. There is always ground. Forever can only be so long. You fall, and wait.
Only that you’re falling into a bottomless pit. It’s pitch black and smells like nothingness. Like all life has been sucked and spat out, or even swallowed, you just can’t figure. The fall is too fast as it is endless. You can’t tell whether you’ve been there before, or. Or, seems like it, but you’re betwixt and between. It’s been 5 months and you fell into a Writer’s block. It slaps you.