the void is endless, a yawning abyss that stretches beyond the edges of all understanding, an infinite expanse where nothing exists but the feeling of being lost in it. time doesn’t bend here—it shatters, fractures, and reconfigures, a distorted reflection of something that once was but no longer can be. there is no direction, no purpose, no reason to move, and yet you feel yourself drifting, drawn into the depths of something that isn't quite space, yet isn't quite nothing either. the silence is deafening. it is not the absence of sound, but the weight of silence that presses in on your mind, making each breath feel like it’s swallowed by the void itself. there’s no escape from this silence; it wraps around you, a cocoon of emptiness that absorbs all thoughts and feelings, as if the very act of thinking is futile here.
you will forget how you got here. the memories will blur and fade until you no longer know what was real and what was imagined. did you ever exist outside of this place? were you ever anywhere else? the questions pile up, but there are no answers, only more questions, endless and swirling like the void itself. your body feels distant, a mere suggestion of existence, as though you are nothing more than a flicker of consciousness suspended in the great black sea of nothing. you try to move, but the air is thick, almost solid, pressing against you, as if the very act of motion is an insult to the stillness that surrounds you.
and yet, the void is not empty. it is full. full of lost time, forgotten memories, fractured pieces of lives that once were. there are whispers here, but they are not of words—no, they are deeper than that, fleeting impressions, fragments of thoughts that brush against your mind like wisps of smoke. they are not meant to be understood, only felt. sometimes you think you hear your name, but it’s not your voice, it’s someone else’s, and then you wonder if you ever had a name to begin with. the void does not wait. it consumes. you don’t ask for it, but it takes you anyway, pulling you deeper into itself, erasing everything but the sensation of falling, of being endlessly dragged down into a place where time and space no longer have meaning.
it swallows everything whole—your past, your identity, your sense of self. nothing matters in here. it is a place where existence itself is a question with no answer. nothing is real, and everything feels like it could be, but isn’t. it does not care for you, your fears, your doubts, or your desires. it does not acknowledge your will or your existence. in the void, you are both nothing and everything, a whisper lost in the darkness that once echoed through a life that you can barely remember. the weight of isolation presses in on all sides, suffocating and cold. and yet, you remain. you have always remained.
the longer you linger, the more the edges of your thoughts blur, melting away like the boundaries of reality itself. you begin to question if you ever had a beginning, or if the void has always been here, stretching endlessly, reaching for something you can’t comprehend. it is neither dark nor light—it is a place beyond both, a place where even the concept of duality is irrelevant. there is no "before," no "after," no "now." there is only this: the stillness, the weight, the silence.
you try to scream, but the void swallows it whole, absorbing your voice until it becomes part of the endless silence that has no beginning and no end. there is no escape from here. the more you struggle, the more you dissolve into the nothingness, and you wonder if you were ever anything at all. you are not alone, yet you are the only one here. and still, the void remains, vast and consuming, its hunger never satisfied. once you step in, you are part of it. there is no return. there is no way out. the void is everything, and you are nothing. you are the void. and the void is you.