An author dies a third time

When she watches the sun set and realises, with seeping guilt, that describing its beauty even in every word and phrase possible won't capture its essence. Not that she won't, but she feels that the universe cannot be described in her words anymore, because they fall short. It's as if she's a toddler reaching for a shelf. a hurt woman reaching for the moon. Every time she tiptoes, the stars mov further.

The only way out is to fall. Into the void, into an abyss, where only darkness prevails and her words will finally be worthy to describe it in just one way: nothingness.