On occasion time simply disappears, slides away on a seeming ice flow to infinity, without a sound, lacking in any form of recognizable reminder, leaving a gap, a chasm where once there was purpose and possibility. The vanishing is not surprising, over a lifetime one becomes accustomed to such blank periods, to the gaps in memories that indicate the realm of blankness. Sleep is a different animal, for sleep often results in somnastic dreams, journeys impossible in reality, unimaginable within practicality, but often seeming real as everyday mundanity.
I have spent much time considering such voids, diagnosing where mind and body travel too, for they must surely momentarily vacate these three dimensions, visiting a fourth, a fifth, a non-catalogable list of alternative realities, places philosophers imagine, scientists speculate, you and I accept begrudgingly as probable if impossibly removed from our naive understanding.
Emptiness is a peaceful place, strangely comforting, oddly homely, perhaps akin to staring at the inside of ones own eyelids.