I wake beneath a counterfeit morning, with daylight leaking through the blinds. The ceiling holds its usual distance, but something shifted in my mind. Coffee cooling by the window, traffic muttering below, I wear the shape of being present so convincingly, nobody knows. Every hour leaves an afterimage, every word arrives too late. I keep standing in the vestibule of a life I cannot enter straight. I live in parallax, close enough to touch, too far to feel. Watching every ordinary moment through a fraction of unreal. If tomorrow finds me vacant, leave the aperture open wide. Maybe light can reach the places I've been quietly living beside. There is sediment in silence, little failures settling down. I catalogue them without reason while the evening floods the town. Nothing hurts enough to name it, nothing heals enough to stay. Just a low electrical weather humming underneath the day. And I laugh at all the right times, memorize the social cues. It's remarkable how normal you can look while coming loose. I live in parallax, close enough to touch, too far to feel. Watching every ordinary moment through a fraction of unreal. If tomorrow finds me vacant, leave the aperture open wide. Maybe light can reach the places I've been quietly living beside. I don't need another answer. I don't need a grand design. Just one morning without measuring the distance between me and my life. Let the silence lose its gravity. Let the room become a room. Let me stop interpreting every shadow as a symptom of the gloom. CUT THE STATIC. LET IT FALL. I'M TIRED OF MAKING NOTHING FEEL NORMAL. I lived in parallax, close enough to touch, too far to feel. But even distorted geometry doesn't make the world less real. So if tomorrow finds me waking with that pressure still inside, I'll leave the aperture open— and let the daylight decide. No revelation. No grand relief. Just morning arriving without asking me to leave.
