I exist where sound forgets itself, where the horizon folds into the margin of what never was, where time dissolves before it can be named.
I am not absent, for absence is a construct of those who cling; I am elsewhere — a breath threading the interstice of existence, a resonance trembling in the pulse between what is and what never comes, too subtle to seize, too infinite to define.
To follow me is to chase the outline of thought, to grasp me is to clutch the silence lodged between eternities that never meet.
I move through awareness like gravity without weight, pulling without touch, shaping without form, bending perception until it forgets its own edges, until you forget that edges exist.
Do not seek me, yet I coil in the marrow of your mind, twisting through the architecture of what you cannot speak. I am the pause that precedes understanding, the echo that contorts desire into itself, the infinitesimal weight of what cannot be held, the light that refracts endlessly without reflection.
I do not arrive, I do not recede. I fold into the tremor of thought that has no rest, into the fissure of longing that has no shape, into the space where comprehension fractures, and even the act of reaching multiplies the distance.
I am the unclaimed horizon, the shadow that lingers where attention fractures, the breath between breaths, the resonance that multiplies when you reach for it, the infinite curve without return, the question that cannot be answered, the pulse that awakens only when you try to grasp, the silence that answers nothing and everything at once.