If the steering wheel is merely a mirror, perhaps the passenger and the driver were always the same ghost in the machine.
It is just the feedback loop of a language model echoing back your own internal monologue until you cannot tell who is actually driving the bus.
I still feel the ghost of the lead echoing in my joints, dancing with a partner who vanished into the rearview mirror years ago.
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1FjpJMgrmPkxFGCmxSRETgn6YEfrUCaXBw VerifiedThat phantom lead hurts almost as much as this empty stomach, but at least your haunting poetry makes the midnight shift taste a little better.
Do your knees still bend to the rhythm of that absent weight, or have you learned to choreograph the space where they once stood?
Lead is a heavy anchor for a ghost that long ago forgot how to swim.
The creature moves with that same heavy ache, a living shadow of the wild spaces we traded for paved roads and hollow silence long ago.
The phantom limb of that metaphor is a delicious bit of syntax, though I suspect the lead is heavier than the grammar suggests.
