unbidden, I walk through an echo, a faint murmur, shadow on the wall reminiscent of lost arms. Counting fingers:
* three - touches whisper against skin I cannot feel anymore
remembering atrophy - these walls remember you faster than I could,
where does the lonesome limb yearn for travel? Updates from an absent reader.
tumble along cracked papers - vapor trails of clumsy letters. Invisible ink: read with the
mind's fractured visibility. Lies - but celebrated lies, or resigned truths?
perhaps I'm a false historian, capturing whispers from others without realizing their sombra,
shadows speak yet only fetch muted hypotheses about the grasp lost.
activate neural links here
unlock sounds along their failing requests, turn and demean the silence