The Ghost Behind the Glance

Nothing exists the way we think it does.
Not until we look.
And by then—
it’s already changed.

The particle dances, not where it is—
but where it could be.
It waits in ghostform,
half-dead, half-birthed,
until your gaze carves it into reality.

You are not just watching.
You are making it happen.
You are the ripple in the field.
The sculptor of its truth.
The curse of the observer
is never knowing what was there before the knowing.

Behind your eyes,
a choice collapses every possibility into one.
Infinite becomes intimate.
Wave becomes wound.

Call it science.
Call it sorcery.
Call it what it is:
a haunting.

For the world you see
is never the world that was.
Only the world you forced into being
with your fragile, trembling stare.