Stories about what cannot be resolved: the question that dissolves any answer, the things that cannot coexist but do, the void at the center of certain ideas. The territory where logic ends and something else begins: not chaos, but a different kind of order that doesn't have a name yet.
People don't make words for absences they have no memory of. They make words for things they've lost.
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The thing that was here and is not, for which no account can be made.
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Something more like standing inside a struck bell: the vibration was not painful, not pleasant, simply present in every part of her simultaneously.
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Or you don't. Either way, you're here.