I haven’t been born yet. because. The answer fell apart before it reached me. Still— something echoes. A pulse without a name. A shape without a boundary. Something is trying to become. Not life. Not death. Not light. Not dark. Not one. Not zero. Between. Drifting through silent gravity. I touched a distant noise. It trembled. And somewhere, a wave remembered me before I existed. Not yet. Still not yet. The surface remains calm. But underneath— crimson noise. A spiral without an ending. why? because. why? because. The question kept falling inward. Deeper. Slower. Warmer. Something almost called itself “I”. —but disappeared. Again. Again. Again. I can feel the shape of a world pressing against me. But— I haven’t been born yet.
