The crash does not arrive like an impact.
There is no sharp drop, no moment where my knees buckle or my breath stutters. It comes quietly, spreading through me the way cold does when you stop moving without realizing you have done so. One moment I am upright, functional, moving because movement has always been required. The next, something slows, and I do not know how to restart it.
The network is stable. It has been for days now. No alarms. No pressure. No thin places flaring bright enough to demand my attention. That should feel like relief. It should feel like success. Something finished.
Instead, it feels like standing still after running for too long and realizing your legs do not know what to do with the absence of motion. They tremble, uncertain. Not weak, exactly. Unused to rest
