From that moment on... I no longer really knew how. But I had ended up reaching a platform. A flat space. Stable. A stopping point. Or maybe just a pause offered out of pity.
I didn't know if I had gotten there by walking. Or crawling. Or maybe... both. At times. Alternating.
I didn't remember the last steps. My body had moved, that was all I could say. It had slid, pulled, dragged what was left of me here. Without me understanding whether it was I who was moving forward, or if something had pushed me there.
I floated between two breaths. Suspended. Neither alive, nor entirely broken. Just there, held by a strange inertia, carried by a refusal too ancient to still have a name. A resistance without form, without scream, without real strength — but still standing.
Something in me said no. Not with words. Not with a thought. A deeper no. Older. That of a being who falls but does not yield. That of a memory that refuses to die entirely, even when everything else already has.
