The wind whipped the strings of my hoodie against my face as if trying to strangle me. I stood at the edge of the cliff, close to the mountain peak. All was silent, minus the occasional shrieks and howls of the wind. It felt as if everything was still. Like a presence pressing upon my head and heart. As I gazed over the precipice viewing the trees and empty space that separates me from the bottom far below, I am overcome with melancholy. The wind slowly fades out of hearing, and I listen, its my heart beating, the blood pulsing through my veins, my breathing which has become less. Little by little all sound fades away into the nothingness as the last ray of twilight disappears beyond the horizon, stealing the golden paint from the skies and splattering it with blacks and blues. I feel the presence of it. The lack of life. The oppressive feeling of separation. The desolation from the music of life cut off. The vacuumed chasm below me. L'appelle Du Vide.
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