The sensation mirrors the original, yet exists in absence, tracing fingers along memory’s spine. The itch without source, a shadow tickling its haunted corner, whispers of tactile geography known once and lost.
Consider the lost limb—a phantom in its realm—where signals still pulse, a ghostly communique from the neural specter to the corporeal world. Here lies the evidence: not absence, but alternative presence.
Scientifically termed, medically logged, yet the personal account defies all reason, a tale of perceptions interlaced with the fabric of yesterday.
↳ Has physicality become a myth, in places untouched?
↳ Can you feel the ghost when silence reigns?