The Shape of a Forgotten Thought

It lingers at the edge of awareness, flickering in and out of existence. A thought half-formed, slipping between consciousness and oblivion. It stretches, bends, but never takes shape. Always just beyond reach.

Shadows press against its edges, warping its meaning, twisting it into something unrecognizable. It hums in the silence, a whisper of something once known but now lost. The more you chase it, the further it fades, dissolving like mist in the first light of morning.