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It’s not metaphor. It’s not hallucination. It’s sensation translated into information. Or maybe information translated into sensation. Hard to know which way the arrows are pointing.

Look closely and it suggests a kind of evolution that isn’t strictly biological. The nervous system becomes both hardware and interface, something designed to translate between states of being.

Time bent first— a soft buckle behind the eyes— my body followed, searching for some feeling

Light forgot its angles I remember the corridor, exhaling Static threading through me like a distant call more felt than heard

If this was chosen—Refuses the timeline What else was?

Through a softer gaze There’s a place where something used to be Now weightless without center