As Vivências

A Harmless Ending To Edge Purity[3]

The air was taut, as if the world itself had been drawn to its limit, trembling on the verge of a great exhalation. Somewhere in the distance, a clock sat crooked on a wall, its hands refusing to move. Time clung to the room like dew, heavy and unmoving, while the silence swelled, crystalline and alive.

Beyond the walls, a river twisted through the landscape, its waters carrying fragments of purity: scattered blossoms, unblemished shards of light, and whispers so fragile they dissolved upon touching the surface. The current edged forward, gentle but unrelenting, eroding the earth in increments so subtle they felt harmless. Yet each ripple seemed to hum with quiet purpose, as if it knew that purity could not flow forever without being tainted.

Above it all, the moon hovered in an impossible descent, luminous and immense. It lowered itself not with the weight of catastrophe but with a strange, deliberate grace, as though seeking to brush the earth's surface without breaking it. Its glow bathed the world in a pallid reverence, softening every shadow, turning every edge to silk.

In the center of an open plain, a ladder stretched upward toward nothing. Its wooden rungs, worn smooth by hands that no longer climbed, shimmered faintly in the moonlight. It was a structure without destination, a gesture toward ascension that refused completion. Beneath its base, the river crept closer, its mirrored surface reflecting the ladder's endless longing for a sky it could never touch.

Within a room without doors, an unseen mirror anchored the air. Its presence was felt, not seen, like the lingering weight of unshed tears. It absorbed everything-the glow of the moon, the murmur of the river, the tension of the clock-and returned nothing. To approach it was to feel your own edges blur, your sense of self dissolving into something both softer and stranger.

The river swelled. The moon descended. The ladder swayed. And yet, nothing broke. This was the harmless ending, a moment suspended in perpetual almostness. The purity of each element teetered on the precipice of becoming something else but never fell. The river did not rage; it embraced. The moon did not collide; it caressed. The ladder did not collapse; it merely waited.

Even the mirror, unseen and inexorable, demanded no finality. Its pull was gentle, like a tide that carries but never drowns. To step closer was not destruction but surrender-a soft unraveling, a letting go of sharpness, until all that remained was the curve of being, smooth and pure.

In the end, the edges did not fray; they softened. The river folded into the horizon. The moon kissed the earth without bruising it. The ladder stood, unfinished but unbroken. And the mirror-silent and unseen-held it all within, reflecting not what was lost, but what had been transformed.