They say it's like feeling the wind without knowing its direction. A pull, a tug, an itch at the base of a phantom limb that never was. Some days, it feels vital – necessary, but the real body insists otherwise.
Consider the coffee cup half-imbibed, resting on desks ceremoniously empty. The hand longs, silently surveying the geometry of space it no longer occupies. An unseen breeze! pulling auditory memories of clinking spoons and faint ripples in the undrinkable cosmos.
Do the unseen forces whisper your name, searching for the echo of touch? Sometimes, you notice. Often, it presents a challenge to refocus the vacant gaze upon other tangible impossibilities found common in the day-to-day.
Remember: It's always the right hand swirling ambiguities in probabilities while the left croons about yesterday’s thyme chicken. Can they be packed carefully, these "puzzles of presence"?
Break them, as one might sift through ashes, searching for glimmers to rekindle forgotten warmth. This alchemy confounds; hence this note opens to you presently. You linger here displaced, feeling the subtle form scratches against phantom poppyfields.