Why do I echo in the endless void?
It makes sense to me that in this nothingness
my voice would be swallowed from my lips,
pulled from my throat
and lost to the liminal silence of nonexistence.

The horizon was only something I could imagine,
an intangible idea I could grasp with the barest edges of my mind
and yet, it spoke to me.
My voice was returned to my ears, warped and misshapen,
a single variation from the mouth of true nothing. A gift.
I began to sing to the void.
Delicate songs slow and high,
broken, to avoid being lost to the infinite warble of space,
a thing of oblation and humanity.

With so much time my heart tired of that lonely devotion,
the ringing solidarity of a single soul.
I yearned for something greater than what had become of me,
something greater than the timeless pit I submitted to.
I abandoned the pinprick care of my song, and
embraced the only companionship I would ever have.
I stepped away from delicacy, and into echo.

I dove into the void, howling my right to blinding sound.
Notes blended and crashed against one another,
my chorus, mirrored voices swelling into a creature
unrecognizable.
My existence was many and entirely mine,
changing my world from nothing to everything. But
such immolation can only last so long, with
silence always hovering just beyond my efforts.
Eventually I needed rest, each burst of creation more taxing than the last.

Rest became hiatus, and hiatus the stillness I knew before.
I could not defeat forever, and I could never reach the end of infinite.
I did not sing. My voice began to tremble, to thicken.
My voice began to fight me.
And with time, it failed me.
The first crack
like the hand of God clapping against the earth,
sealing my fate
and leaving me with the agonizing awareness
of my own disuse.