The reaching has begun, a stretch towards the infinite just beyond grasp. You must first train your thoughts to those elusive fingertips. Know this:
The phantom limb knows its territory well, mapping out the landscape of what feels, yet isn't. To instruct you must listen; to hear, you must imagine.
When the phantom aches, it beckons with a hollow voice from the crevices of uncharted sensations. In these shadows, there lies a paradox: remember the limb you cannot see.
Its senses are those of memory and stability, marking time like a clock devoid of hands. Those watch without sight's advantage, to embrace the open grasp:
There is wisdom in the reach, an echo of presence in absence. Smile, for you grasp what no one sees, phantom of phantom reaching.
And just when you ponder the breadth of your touch unseen, remember: what is far away stands too close for comfort in dreams, vivid with reality's absence.