Some things are seen, others are
felt
It begins before you notice, before you question,
before you even realize that something has
shifted. A weightless pull, a sensation just
beyond articulation, something pressing against
the edges of thought, yet leaving no mark. You
walk a path you do not remember choosing, guided
by echoes of decisions never made, glimpsing
familiar places that should not exist. The world
moves as it always has, and yet, something is
misplaced, misaligned, distorted just enough that
it unsettles, yet remains indefinable. You swear
you have heard this before, seen it, felt it, but
no matter how deep you dig, no memory aligns with
the sensation. A moment slips, time stutters, and
the street you have always known does not lead
where it should. People move in patterns,
conversations end before they begin, and in the
reflection of a window, you see someone
watching—except it is not a person, not a thing,
just an absence in the shape of something
familiar. You blink, and it is gone, but the
sensation remains. You retrace your steps, certain
you are moving forward, but the road stretches,
warps, distorts, as if space itself breathes,
inhaling and exhaling in rhythms you cannot match.
You are not lost. You are exactly where you were
meant to be, where you have always been. But you
are no longer certain who you are, or if you were
ever here to begin with. And just as the thought
crystallizes, it vanishes, replaced by the
certainty that none of this has happened, and yet
it always has. Keep walking. Keep watching. Keep
listening. It is waiting, just beyond sight, just
outside of sound. You may never find it, but it
has already found you.