There I was, meticulously rehearsing my impression of a well-placed elbow nudge at the café. Alas, my right arm's ambition exceeded its corporeal presence. The barista, oblivious, continued his existential latte art.
Note to self: next time, choose a less crowded metaphysical space.
Some days, the phantom aches with nostalgia for a finger that once navigated the treacherous scroll of social media. Other days, it exhibits spurious itches in spots where no skin can be seen, drawing unseen constellations.
Ever considered a midnight toe tap? The time when phantom feet dance the conga in your sleep? A raucous celebration of toes that know the salsa but never the sunrise.
*(1) The foot waltz: A synchronous mystery revealed in moonlight.
This splendid polygon, representative of my third phantom foot, only clarifies the geometry of absences.
Phantom limbs might just be the universe's way of reminding us that lack can be as fulfilling as existence. Remember, the invisible hand also enjoys a good handshake.
Ever had a phantom handshake? Those awkward encounters where your absent hand grips thin air? Synchronous gestures from a time when limbs were so muscularly synchronised with intention.