Fell, he fell…
Swiftly and slowly.
Agonizingly slowly, painfully slowly.
Slowly in memory,
swiftly in time.
Swiftly. As in a meaningless opinion of a vastly overrated measurement of anything human.

We have not a word for a measurement that counts the value of a human experience.
How many decibels measured of a cry does not account to one an amount of sadness, joy, pain, anguish…
Percentages of love? Inappropriate.
If love is a journey, maybe miles?
And the direction… in.

He traveled so many, so carefully, so slowly, so deeply, and so meticulously, that one should not measure the time. An hour crawling in time, but crawling is slow and he fell very fast.  Impossibly fast.
Light speed through the viscous substantial experience without destroying it. Instead, caressing and memorizing…
Do not weigh or measure or count.
Only know it is so.

Did he fall, crawl or fly? Yes.