Notes from a Phantom Limb

Despite the silence, I feel it—a gentle trace along the skin, a silent song from a part that once was. It whispers in frequencies only I can hear, a resonance of something long past.

The echo reminds me of old streets I walked, where shadows cast by memories shape the sidewalks. There's a rhythm here, a pulse that syncs with footsteps from another time.

There's a future in these whispers, a promise that the echoes will find flesh, perhaps in the dreams of those who walk near my path. They listen, even when they don't know.