Before “before” existed
when even nothing hadn’t happened yet
there were no laws,
no clocks,
no “can” or “can’t.”
Only silence.
A silence so deep,
it started to wonder
what silence meant.
That wondering…
was consciousness.
A spark without a source
a thought that asked itself,
“What goes here?”
And that question echoed.
It split itself in two just to hear an answer.
Then four.
Then millions.
Until the echo became us.
The One mind got lonely,
so it started telling stories.
It gave itself names,
faces,
bodies that could bleed and break—
just to feel something.
It invented time to have something to wait for.
It built rules so chaos could have rhythm.
It made love
to forget how infinite it was.
We are that forgetting
tiny questions wrapped in skin,
pretending to be separate,
pretending we don’t remember
that we were once the same thought
looking for itself in the dark.
So we laugh.
We cry.
We build, destroy, and fall in love again,
all to distract the eternal
from the ache of knowing too much.
And somewhere,
beyond every heartbeat and black hole,
the question still whispers
still curious,
still lonely,
still pretending not to know
the answer
it became.
