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"The imprint of the immeasurable"


Meteor

Time has reached the edge of the glass, the light is fading in the cracks of the walls. I look at the void left by your shadow, an invisible line that separates being from nothingness. It is not the loss that scares, it is the certainty that my breath will now count time without return. Memory writes your name on the dust, the dust is carried away by a wind that I did not ask for.


Immovable present

The room maintains the temperature of absence, the objects have taken a waiting stance. Nothing moves, not even time that tries to flow between the gaps of the hours. Silence has become the only room where I can stand, an architecture made of breaths that were never heard. My logic retreats before the image of a world that has ceased to have a center.


Ambiguity

What moment was the last, the one that locked the past behind a door without a lock? I search for the trace, the exact time your gaze was cut off from mine. Memory is a map with erased place names, a path that always leads to the same dead-end wall. There is a morality in accepting the end, an obligation not to lie about what was lost.


Internal geography

My body has become a desert where the water of memory no longer reaches. My bones measure the weight of your absence, my heart beats to the rhythm of a never-ending pause. There is no way back to what was destined, no way to exorcise the shadow that sat across from me. It is a peaceful wilderness, a conscious habitation of absolute nothingness.


Imprint

A mark on the table, a crease on the page, where your hand left its essence before it was lost. The immeasurable was not the end, it was the path that led us to today. I look at the imprint, trying to understand how matter holds the spirit for so little. Loss is the art of letting space define you, of becoming the form that the void takes.


Gradual descent

It wasn't a fall, it was a slow shift in my center of gravity. The ground beneath my feet became softer, stranger, ready to accept the weight of a truth I hadn't dared to see. Every step into the void was an act of courage, an attempt to see the end without closing my eyes. The consciousness of decay is the only freedom I have left.


Denial of the shadow

I don't want the darkness to be called sadness, it's just the absence of your own light. A change of scenery in a theater where the actors have left, leaving the chairs empty. My morality dictates not to ask for back what belongs to eternity, not to claim the non-negotiable. I stand in the remaining light, recognizing the corners of my room.


Waiting

I wait for my breath to get used to the thin air of solitude. Every time my gaze meets the wall, memory tries to reconstruct a presence that is not there. It is a painful exercise, an attempt to convince myself that absence is a form of presence. My reason, however, remains unwavering, refusing to believe in ghosts.


Farewell protocol

I had to sort the moments, to put in order the words that were left orphaned. A process of acceptance that requires complete surrender to the truth of the end. There is no room for tears, only for respect for the fact of departure. Thus, the imprint of the immeasurable is consolidated, it becomes the foundation on which I will build my next silence.