You wander across this plane, examining the ground. How complex it is! Like delicate embroidery, woven together with the finest threads, all holding solid under your own weight. Not a single detail out of place. It gets more intricate as you venture, and it piques your interest.
Then suddenly, everything falls away. You've reached the edge. Beyond is just emptiness, the edge of the world. There are, maybe, distant stars, you can't quite tell. You know there's something out there, and it's worth reaching, but you can't. There's no path. As you bend down to examine this boundary at which the plane ceases to exist, you notice it isn't quite sharp as you thought. Fibres stick out from it, some long, some short, like a torn rag, dangling helplessly into the void.
You look around you. There are others here! Many others, all pouring over, scrutinising a bit of the fabric-like edge, and some, reaching into their pockets, reaching into their bags, slowly, gingerly, attaching some material to the strands, lengthening them, binding them, solidifying them. The plane is extending, bit by bit, strand by strand.
Maybe you can help out too! You dig deep into your pockets. You pull out a few pieces of string and examine them - they don't match. It won't lengthen nor hold the ones here. You snap a few pictures of the edge that you're most interested in. Maybe in a few years you might find the correct ones that can be woven together, you don't know. For now, it's back to the drawing board.