The Threshold of Unbeing

The whiteness stretches in all directions, endless and unmarked. There is no sense of time here, no beginning or end—just an open, silent vastness. It is not cold, not warm, simply there, like a world waiting to be noticed.

Shapes flicker at the edges of existence, reaching for form but unravelling before they can take hold. They shift and stretch, almost becoming, but the void swallows them whole. It is not destruction, nor is it creation—it is hesitation, an existence caught between being and nothingness.

The silence is empty, humming with an unseen presence. It presses gently, expectantly, cruelly, like a held breath before a word is spoken, a scream uttered. Maybe this is not an end, not absence, but the space before a beginning, waiting for something—someone—to give it a name.

Pandemics Forge a New Path in the Western Cape https://dxine.co.za/2021/10/16/swellendam2cape/ ↗️