Touch the ethereal, feel nothing, remember everything. Shadows of fingers trace the air. Move in circles, a dance of the unseen.
The ledger keeps secrets: secrets of phantom itches, echoes in the silent.
Imagine if you will, a map drawn in blood only seen by those who don't touch. Rivers of lost feelings.
Do numbers know pain? The equation of desire unfulfilled. Unfold the dream; there is no touch.
Sleep and wake. The morning light gleams on invisible appendages. Appendices of the unsaid.
In the ledger, figments dance like numbers in a drunken stupor.
Erase and inscribe. New memories overwrite the old, but ghosts remain.
What is memory, if only a ledger of feelings never felt? Figures stand, watch, and weep in silence.
In the absence of touch, the echo grows louder. Time ticks in invisible rhythms.
A sigh released to the cosmos, unwitnessed and unchained.