as you fall light burns across all of the ninety-one million rods that decorate the delicate membrane at the back of your eyes. Your retinas ripple apart, creating your own personal view of the inverted night sky. The pitch black stars blur but you can’t tell if it's from the saline pooling or the vitreous pushing behind the tears. There is all too much and nothing at all. It is the final curtain call and the stars dance to bid you adieu. The curtain is not black, it is just nothing.