Sadness: Love Lost Its Gravity
Once, love knew where to fall. It knew how to stay.
In this space, gravity has failed. Bodies no longer descend into absence— they hover, reaching across a distance that cannot be closed.
Below them, the coffins wait. Open. Empty. Prepared for something that never arrived.
Mourning stands confused, looking down at a loss that refuses to land. There is no body to bury, no weight to return to the earth.
Love did not end violently. It simply stopped falling. Stopped anchoring itself to time, to ground, to certainty.
What floats above is not reunion. It is suspension. Two lives momentarily aligned in a world that no longer knows how to hold them.
When love loses its gravity, nothing collapses. Nothing settles.
Everything remains unfinished— forever drifting above what was meant to contain it.
