I had been climbing for what felt like hours… or perhaps the same moment repeated too many times.
The landscape, the smell, the steps — everything repeated. Tirelessly. In an infinity of slow, silent loops, without beginning or end. Each detail returned with the same worn precision, like a memory that wears out from coming back too often.
Time no longer passed: it stretched. Like a damp fiber, trembling, stretched between two breaths that had never managed to meet.
Me, I was there, suspended in this in-between, both outside and inside, without knowing if I was ascending something… or simply losing myself a little more with each step.
But ahead of me… something. An anomaly. A soft fault in the repetition.
Something new, which seemed to emerge from the loop without breaking it, like a different silence within continuous silence. A landing. Simple. Bare. Unexpected. Neither step nor turn. Just a space laid there, almost shyly, as if it apologized for breaking the order.
