Atomistic projections birthe free out of a thick and porous shell, candid with light and bleached from the inside. And it fractals out into zero, infinitely. But how we collapse is imprecision. What function spits your mortar out? Or are you unawares of the gaps left in your voice? This is the decision to systematically disassemble yourself. No one else. And it won't be where you look, or even when, but it shadows every thought, and lives off feeble grasps in its direction. How can you know a river when the river is yourself? If a door is always closed could it be called a wall? A man cannot step into himself more than once.