Anthesis of Sadness

I had been walking for a long time. Too long. Or maybe not.

Because here... time doesn’t weigh. It doesn’t flow. It doesn’t settle like elsewhere. It dissolves. Slowly. Silently. Like a lukewarm vapor you don’t feel, but that erases outlines. It’s not that it passes. It’s that it ceases to exist the moment you try to catch it. It becomes something else — a sensation without duration, a substance without weight.

Like sounds. Like memories. Like boundaries.

Everything slips. Nothing holds. Sounds no longer echo, thoughts fade before they even take shape, and places themselves seem hesitant to fully exist. It’s not a desert. It’s not a dream. It’s a grey zone, slow, soft, where each step forgets itself in the next.

I no longer knew if I was moving forward.

Maybe I was repeating.

Maybe I was turning in circles, in a world that doesn’t say no, that corrects nothing, that simply absorbs. It doesn’t judge my steps. It doesn’t resist my breath. It accompanies me like one accompanies a sleeper — with a mute, almost awkward gentleness.

And that silence, that blur, that causeless fatigue... all of it ended up inhabiting me. Passing through me. As if the world no longer surrounded me, but flowed through me, gently, porous. Without shock. Without shape.

I was walking. Yes.

But I no longer knew what I was passing through.

Maybe I wasn’t passing through anything.