LSS

Began with a door that opened only when nothing knocked.

Inside, the unborn libraries shelved books whose pages had already forgotten their alphabets. Every sentence dissolved into insects before reaching its period.

-- What remains does not always exist.

It did not carry fire or knives. It carried erasers large enough to erase the idea. Mountains vanished without becoming dust. Dust vanished without becoming memory. Even absence became too heavy and split into smaller nothings.

Loss wandered through the corridors collecting names that had never belonged to anyone. It folded them into impossible birds that flew downward toward a sky buried beneath the earth. Wherever they landed, clocks began measuring distance instead of time.

And somewhere beyond every symbol, where meaning collapses into pure untranslatable weather, an invisible voice continued repeating a sentence that no listener could remember, though every forgotten thing seemed to recognize it.