When you weep because there is nothing else in you but to weep. When words fail you. When the canvas of your skin ruptures and you're you no longer. A blank. When whatever you knew is gone, and whatever there is to know hasn't come yet, and you're in between the empty and the full, the full and the empty, and you don't get the meaning of either. When the idea of you stops existing, and what emerges instead is so fragile you're afraid it will die the second you touch it, and you don't move, don't breathe, and let it shoot out of you like the long forgotten child that you were before you forgot yourself. Before that child was broken.