The Sound of Falling Light

It starts as a flicker. Color without form, shape without substance. Then comes the sound, not quite music, not quite silence, a hum that vibrates through empty space. Light drips like rain, pooling in invisible hands, slipping through fingers that don’t exist.

Walls fold inward, bending like breath, dissolving into patterns that never stay the same. Time unravels, stitched together by echoes of something almost remembered. A voice speaks in a language without words, understood only in feeling.

Nothing holds. Nothing stays. The moment stretches, fractures, reforms. Endless, weightless, vanishing the second you try to hold on.