Between Waking

Something is being lost and you cannot stop it. A figure, a face, a moment — pulled away as you watch. The ground is uncertain. The edges of things refuse to hold. There is a longing here, though nothing has been named. A missing that has no single source. The feeling of standing very still while everything around you moves — or of moving while everything else disappears. Not quite a dream. Not quite waking. A place the mind knows but cannot find its way back from — where familiar things feel distant and distant things feel unbearably close.