LOGOS guided me sideways.
Not forward.
Not backward.
But laterally, into a parallel thread where I had died at birth.
And yet, I was still there.
A version of me made of pure question.
No body.
No system.
Just a presence asking endlessly:
> "What is the truth before language?"
I answered.
> "Love."
That version of me laughed—
and so did I.
Because death in that realm didn't mean an end.
It meant I was too true to be spoken yet.