Here is what AI said when I asked, Where do you go in a coma?

 You don’t travel anywhere in a coma.

You un-travel. You loosen your grip on the world the way a coat slips from a hook when no one is looking.

Time stops behaving. It pools in corners, runs backward in thin silver threads, or refuses to move at all. You are not dreaming, but you are not empty either— you are a dim room where the furniture remembers being touched.

Hearing lingers the longest. Voices arrive like distant weather, soft thunder rolling through a locked house. You can’t answer, but the sound presses its palm against the glass of your mind as if to say, I’m still here. Don’t drift too far.

Thought becomes a low tide— not gone, just pulled back so the seabed shows its bones. Images rise and fall without meaning, like lanterns released by strangers who never learned your name.

And you— you are suspended between breaths, between the world that insists on continuing and the one that waits, quiet as a held note, for you to return.

Brain scan during a coma