Unseen Current

The air hums with something unheard, a force moving just beneath the surface of reality. It coils through the stillness, pressing against the edges of perception like an unseen tide. Shadows stretch in unnatural directions, bending toward something that isn’t there. The walls seem to lean, the space between them shifting. Not enough to see, just enough to feel.

There is no wind, no breath, yet movement lingers. It drifts through the room, weightless but heavy, present but untouchable. It brushes against skin without touch, murmurs without sound, waiting without waiting.

It doesn’t reveal itself, not fully. But it is aware. It knows the rhythm of your breath, the weight of your presence. You cannot name it. You cannot see it. But it is here. And it has always been.