Shift Detected

(digital journal entry)

The cursor blinks, restless,

mocking the stillness between my hands.

I open folders I don’t remember naming.

All of them empty,

except for the echo

of a file I once meant to save.

The screen flickers – not glitching,

just tired,

as if it wants to shut down

but awaits my permission.

The room is still.

But something,

in the way my fingers pause before each key,

feels unrecoverable.

A tab I don’t recall opening asks if I’m still here.

I don’t close it.

I just sit,

watching my reflection fade into standby.

Then—

the faint smell of warm vanilla rises from somewhere,

thick and sweet,

a hunger waking

in a body that forgot it could want.

I search the hard drive,

for a file,

a note,

a leftover spark—

something to reboot

the part of me she left unsaved.

Five browser tabs still open:

travel agencies,

one seat,

one destination,

one person—

not me.

Shift detected.

A move

somewhere below my chest.